"Absence - For I Am Needing"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: 'Absence of Fear' by Jewel. There aren't a lot of Jewel songs out there that I think are right for fictional purposes such as these . . . but this one just struck the perfect chord I was going for, so far as the feel of this chapter goes. I hope I got it right for you guys!

inside my skin
there is this space
it twists and turns
it bleeds and aches

Her heart was breaking.

It seemed like something so melodramatic to say -- something her mother would have told her to keep Buffy from going out when Joyce wanted a quiet mother/daughter evening in. A store full of parenting books hadn't diminished Joyce Summers' ability to do a damn fine impression of a Jewish mother < buffy, you're breaking my heart, you can't spend one night with your own mother? > when the occasion called for it.

She'd heard it a thousand times. And every time, she would roll her eyes, accuse her mother of hamming it up, then grudgingly cancel her plans to Bronze it.

If she'd known then what her mother must have felt, the separation anxiety, the surety that she was losing a connection with the person she'd loved more than anything in the world, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it . . . maybe then, Buffy wouldn't have felt quite so put-upon to spend an evening watching movies with her mother.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since she'd nearly betrayed Angel and endangered everything there was between them. Two weeks since he'd slowly begun to pull away from her. Two weeks of lying in their bed and feeling -- of all things -- distance when he fell asleep and turned away from her.

Oh, he still smiled at her, still kissed her, had even made love to her a few times . . . but there was something off. He loved her, she knew. It was something she would never be able to doubt. His every action toward her, however, seemed guarded; as though he were trying to decide if this was how he, a concerned and attentive lover, should act. His kisses were different, his touches were different . . . even the way he said her name was different.

The differences in him were killing her.

Months ago, this whole mess had begun one quiet night in a Sunnydale graveyard. Buffy had been sure her Turning, and subsequently Angel's, would be the hardest thing they would ever have to face.

Now, all the trauma of those months was beginning to seem tame compared to this. Unlike now, their actions, while horrifying, were not done with conscious thought. They had been soulless, and, while still culpable, certainly less guilty. This time around, there was no doubt as to Buffy's guilt, neither in her eyes or in Angel's.

And as she pressed her face to Angel's pillow, used her keen predator's senses to inhale the scent of him that still clung to it . . . Buffy knew the pain -- however unintentional -- that she had caused Riley.

Unlike how she had felt toward Riley, Angel loved her. God, how he loved her . . . but he would not allow himself to express it. He would not allow himself to =be= with her and having him so near, yet beyond her reach was slowly turning her insides to ash.

It had been two weeks since he'd last brought her roses in the late evening; and her heart was breaking.

inside my heart
there's an empty room
it's waiting for lightning
it's waiting for you

"You're cheating, Xander! You're a dirty cheater."

"Will, just because I'm =winning= doesn't mean I'm cheating."

"You are so cheating," Cordelia declared, throwing down her hand in a huff. "You were never this good at poker. Never."

"Guys," Buffy sighed, "could we please just play one hand without--"

"He's up a hundred bucks!" Cordelia cried. "There's no way that just occurred in nature!"

"May I please remind everyone that a 'hundred bucks' translates into one hundred pennies?" Wesley mentioned, attempting to be the voice of reason. "It's not going to make or break anyone at this table, even if Xander is clearly cheating."

"Hey!" Xander yelled.

"When we began playing you weren't even sure if a full house beat a straight," Wesley said tiredly. "I hardly think your ability to bluff has--"

"Xander can bluff?" Angel wondered caustically.

"Can you tell how bad I wanna stake you right now?" Xander sniped, though there was no real malice behind it.

"Yes," Angel answered with a smirk.

"I'm sorry, are we playin' poker here or goin' back to the schoolyard?" Lindsey drawled.

"Whassamatta?" Faith grinned at him. "Baby finally got a good hand?"

"Just the one," Wesley ribbed under his breath.

Lindsey spared him a half-hearted a glare, but directed his answer at Faith: "I ain't tellin' you, darlin'."

"I'm going to destroy you," Cordelia declared to Xander. "Just like I destroyed Giles."

"Like that was hard," Faith scoffed. "G wanted to lose so he wouldn't have to listen to us bitch."

"We do not bitch," Cordelia said haughtily.

"No, we moan," Buffy said with a grin, looking to Angel, because he always appreciated her wit as it pertained to zinging Cordelia. He quirked his mouth at her, a half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Maybe he was just having an off night, Buffy reasoned. He was distracted or . . .

"We do moan with the best of them," Xander announced. Then, he began to moan softly. Cordelia joined him, almost against her will . . .

And Angel laughed. His eyes sparkled. He had to set down his cards to clutch at his sides as Cordelia and Xander moaned.

Buffy started to cry.

All the tears she hadn't allowed herself for the past two weeks streaked down her cheeks and she muffled a sob. The mirth everyone had shared a moment before was gone, and they all stared at Buffy.

"Buffy?" Willow asked, concerned.

Shaking her head, having no words to express her sorrow, Buffy leapt up and fled the room.

Willow glanced around the table, hoping to find some clue as to what had just happened. Everyone looked as confused as she did . . . except for Angel, who looked like he wanted to cut out his own heart. Instead, he followed Buffy's lead, storming out in the opposite direction she'd run.

"What the hell was that?" Faith wondered aloud.

"Lover's quarrel," Lindsey said, still staring intently at his cards.

"They weren't quarreling," Wesley pointed out.

"Sure they weren't," Cordelia said doubtfully.

"They've been not right for weeks," Willow added. And she knew why. She was pretty sure she was the only one -- other than Buffy and Angel -- who did.

Well, there was Wesley, too, but she =had= to tell him! He'd been concerned about Angel, and, well, Willow hated keeping secrets from someone she was intimate with. It made her guilty and jumpy and that was why she wasn't allowed to have Mountain Dew.

"Should we go after Buffy?" Xander asked.

"No," Willow said, before grabbing Xander's hand and dragging him out of the room.

"All right," Lindsey announced, "scrap this hand, deal 'em out -- Texas Hold 'Em." He winked at Faith, then gestured with his prosthetic hand. "You'll have to do the honors for me."

"That's what I'm here for," she muttered, collecting the cards.

In fact, Faith was beginning to wonder if that was =all= she was there for.

Things had been amazing these past few weeks with Lindsey. They'd been playing piano together almost nightly -- he liked to teach her to play all her favorite songs, and with the exception of the first, magical time they'd sat down together, Faith was a total novice on those pearly white keys.

Lindsey was a good teacher, though; patient and deliberate when he gave instruction in that smooth, sexy drawl. On more than one occasion, Faith had been seriously tempted to say 'screw it' to the lessons and jump him in that big, bad ballroom in desperate need of a feather duster.

And he made her laugh. He made little ironic comments about life, about the loonies in this nut house and she'd nearly bust a gut laughing like she hadn't in -- well, never. Faith was wry and bad ass and her sense of humor was rooted in cynicism. Lindsey was a cynic himself, but deep down inside she was sure the heart of an eternal optimist was dying to get out.

Dying being the operative word, because if Faith was right -- and she was pretty damn sure that she was -- Lindsey was starving something inside of him to death. He gave it rations at the piano, but it wasn't enough and instead of healing the way Faith had hoped he would, Lindsey seemed to be getting more depressed, more lost.

One night after they'd played for a couple of hours, they were sitting on the checkered floor of the ballroom, their backs against the piano bench, trading secrets. Faith had confessed how mired down she'd gotten, how she'd lost her way in the darkness because it was easy and she didn't have to feel all the pain that way. In turn, he'd confessed that evil had never been easy for him -- it had just seemed necessary for awhile.

His family had grown up poor, his father incapable of supporting any of the children he and his wife continued to have. Lindsey told her about the older sister who had died on the streets when she ran away at sixteen, and about the younger sister who'd come out to L.A. a few years ago and 'disappeared.' Wolfram and Hart were probably behind it, he'd confessed, and there had been shame in his eyes.

He told her how they'd lost their house when he was a kid, expressed his rage over a father who grinned and beared it as bastard after bastard walked right over him. He'd sworn to never be that guy who took it in the ass with a smile, and Faith had understood where he was coming from. She'd always promised herself she wouldn't be anyone's chump and then she'd totally lost control of her life -- her soul -- while hanging on to her precious ego.

"Babe," Lindsey said loudly, and Faith snapped out of her deep thoughts to stare at him. "Your bet," he said with a little smile.

Faith tossed a couple of chips onto the pile without bothering to look at her hand. All he'd really needed from her was a shuffle; Lindsey was dealing the rest of the hand one-handed.

Was that all he wanted her for? A fucking right hand?

"Fold," Faith said suddenly, tossing her hand down. "I, uh -- I need some air." She pushed away from the table and barely heard Cordelia wonder aloud "What is this, temper tantrum night?" before she reached the door to the garden.

Everybody seemed to end up in this stupid garden sooner or later, Faith reflected as she sat down heavily on the brick. Angel swore it was calming; that it helped him find his center. Faith sat there for a moment, breathing in the fresh air, taking in the beauty of the garden all their hands had helped shape in some way . . .

And promptly decided it was in no way, shape or form for her.

Getting to her feet once more, Faith strode back into the hotel and headed straight for the ballroom.

and i am wanting
i am needing you here
inside the absence of fear

Lindsey found her there several minutes later trying to play some Nirvana song on the piano.

"Somehow, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' loses something when it's that quiet," he noted wryly.

"Cobain wasn't born for quiet," Faith noted, not looking up at him. "I can relate."

"I like that you're not quiet," Lindsey confided quietly. "I like that you keep me wide awake."

"Don't," Faith ordered stiffly, her hands stilling on the keys.

Lindsey looked confused. "Don't . . . what?"

"Don't -- =do= that," Faith mumbled. "Don't talk about me like I'm making your life better, because I know I'm not." She got up from the piano and began to pace, long, angry strides that encompassed most of the spacious room.

"But you are," Lindsey insisted, trying to keep up with her, to force her to meet his gaze. "Faith, there are a lot of things in my life I'm not sure of, but you aren't one of them."

"Maybe I should be then," she said at last. "Because you've still got a death wish and I don't want to live with someone who doesn't want to live with me."

"I do want to live with you," Lindsey insisted.

"Unless you're going through a mood where you don't want to live at all," Faith countered.

"Who the Hell made you the expert on what I want?" Lindsey snapped. "You've got no idea what's going on my head."

"Don't I?" Faith wondered bitterly. "Baby, I =was= you. Which is exactly why I should have known better than to let myself fall in love with someone that fucked up."

Lindsey looked startled. "You -- you're in love with me?"

"Of course I'm in love with you, you moron!" Faith screamed. "You don't dream about someone you've never met, finally come together and fucking =meld minds= or some shit without falling in love with them!"

"I know," Lindsey agreed quietly. "I just -- I didn't know you knew."

"Well I know," Faith said crossly. "And I'm not going to put up with your mopey bullshit anymore. Jesus, Lin, you haven't even tried to =kiss= me since that first time. Are you that afraid of wanting to live again?"

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely.

Faith felt her lower lip tremble and she almost screamed in frustration. She wasn't supposed to feel like this; wasn't supposed to have someone else matter this much. What he did with his life was out of her control, which meant her heart was out of her control because her heart was his, whether he wanted it or not.

The fact that he seemed to want it -- and still couldn't pull himself out -- made everything hurt that much worse.

"Then fucking snap out of it," Faith ordered angrily. "I can't be with someone who doesn't want to live firmly in this world. Life -- especially =my= life -- is too goddamn short for me to stand by while you dick around with whether you can handle your moral conflicts."

Holding his gaze for a moment, she turned and walked out.

Or, at least, she tried to.

His reflexes were pretty good for a guy who'd lost an extremity. His one good hand closed around her upper arm and spun her around to face him. Then he was kissing her and holding her tight, God, so tight and she forgot about being angry because she felt it, that melding again and he was starting to undress her.

Lindsey's fingers were dancing over her skin, the same clean, graceful movements he used on the keys. He encouraged her to follow his lead and she couldn't remember when she'd gotten his shirt off or when they'd sunk down to the floor. And damn, she had to talk to Angel about getting this place cleaned up if Lindsey was going to keep teaching her how to play like this.

muscle and sinew
velvet and stone
this vessel is haunted
it creaks and moans

"Sorry, this is the brooding over brunettes zone," Xander quipped as he took a seat next to Angel at the bottom of the Hyperion's staircase.

"Yeah, so if that sourpuss is for anyone blonde, you're gonna have to take it to the privacy of your own room," Willow added, sitting down on Angel's other side.

"Hey, I think Buffy's up there already," Xander added.

"Which works out good, considering communication is the only real way to put an end to the brooding," Willow confided.

"Guys, despite what your well-intentioned hearts are telling you, this isn't helpful," Angel told them tiredly.

"Neither is your approach, friend of the friendless," Xander pointed out.

"Spike's been scarce lately," Angel mentioned, clearly trying to change the subject. "At first I thought it was because he'd finally grown a brain. It's been awhile though, and I'm starting to wonder if he's gone for good."

"Yeah. That." Willow blushed a little. "I, um . . . I sort of told him to leave and never come back."

Angel raised an eyebrow at her. "Buffy tried that and it didn't work."

"The Buffster obviously doesn't have the deep down cold menace my Will does," Xander crowed triumphantly.

"I'm really sorry for what he did to you," Willow confided.

"It's not your fault, Willow," Angel assured her quietly. He wondered if Buffy had explained the full story to Willow. Somehow, he doubted it. His lover had been tearing herself up with guilt and he was almost positive she'd allowed Willow to think the worst of her.

He felt bad for Willow. She'd developed an attachment to Spike - - something akin to friendship -- and it was always difficult to realize your trust had been misplaced.

Then, something else occurred to Angel. Perhaps Willow's information hadn't come from Buffy after all.

"He . . . he told you what happened, then?" Angel asked her hesitantly.

"Oh, Angel, Buffy would never do anything to hurt you and if she did it was only because she wasn't thinking, you know how she is, and she's really sorry--"

Angel held up a hand to put an end to Willow's ceaseless babble.

"I don't want to hear it, Willow," he nearly begged. "I can't hear it."

"But you're pushing Buffy away," Willow nearly cried.

"You don't mean to," Xander noted, "but you are. And it's killing her."

"Don't you think it's killing me, too?" Angel snapped. "I don't know how to do anything else. I don't know how to let her inside again. I want to. You can't know how much . . ." He swallowed down a flood of tears. "I miss her. We got so close, we were so fucking close to something that wasn't hard. That goddamn prophecy has brought me nothing but misery."

"You could have told her about it yourself, you know," Willow admonished gently.

"Yeah," Xander agreed, "no offense to Queen C, but hearing things second hand from Cordelia can't have been easy on Buff."

"I know that," Angel said wearily. "But . . . the truth is, I hadn't given the prophecy much thought. Not in a long time. Certainly not since Darla came back from the dead." He shook his head. "Focusing on the idea that I might be human someday nearly cost me everything awhile ago. So I . . . forgot about it. I made myself forget. And since Buffy got her soul back, the only thought in my head has been how to make it easier for her. I wanted to spend the rest of my days by her side. The moment I realized she was going to have forever, my subconscious said goodbye to any dream of becoming human."

"But, Angel," Willow began timidly, "you may not have a choice in the matter."

"Prophecies are funny like that," Xander noted.

"And once you are human," Willow added, "you may feel differently."

"I'm always going to want to be with her," Angel vowed softly. "It doesn't matter how different we are. There's nothing keeping us apart now; I sure as Hell wouldn't let humanity do it."

Willow finally let a bright, hesitant smile spread across her face. "Do you think that maybe you should tell her that?"

"I'm afraid," Angel confessed at last. "I'm so afraid of hurting her again; of getting hurt again."

"Afraid enough to risk losing her for good?" Xander wondered. "Because I'm telling you, man, right now, you're hurting her worse than you could by being with her."

"Maybe she's afraid of the same thing," Willow said gently. "You're not the only one who went evil anymore, Angel. You're not the only one with issues and guilt and an inferiority complex. You're not just the guy that broke her heart; you're the one who saved her. You're it for her." She waved her hand at him. "Go be it for her."

Angel stared at Buffy's best friend for a moment before smiling gently, leaning over and placing a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Neither one of us deserves you," he confided to her softly.

"What about me?" Xander asked, affronted.

"No one deserves you, Harris," Angel threw over his shoulder as he bounded up the stairs.

"I think I'm insulted," Xander complained.

"You should go talk to him," Wesley said for the twentieth time.

"No, I think it should be you," Cordelia countered for the twenty- first time, and Giles was about to quietly murder them both.

"You've known him longer," Wesley pointed out, "and he always seems more willing to open up to you."

"Yes, but I'm a woman," Cordelia said as though that made everything clear.

"We're all well aware of your gender, Cordy," Wesley noted dryly.

Cordelia rolled her eyes at him. "I'm a woman. The enemy. The one who hurt him, just like Buffy. You're a guy. He'll open up better to a guy who he feels is on his side."

"Angel doesn't think that way," Wesley insisted, "and I think he'd prefer to have this conversation with you."

"You're both completely useless," Giles muttered quietly to himself as he read through the scrolls of Aberjian. He'd been fascinated when Wesley had first told him of the prophecy and disconcerted when he'd been sworn to secrecy. It seemed Angel didn't like discussing it and Giles had been willing to respect the vampire's privacy.

With that end in mind, he had buried himself in Wesley's office with every spare moment he had, poring over translation after translation, using some of Wesley's notes as a reference.

Things had been going amazingly well until the Bickersons barged in and began their grating argument.

"Trust me when I say Angel doesn't want to talk to me about the whole Buffy issue when It's just Buffy in the equation," Cordelia said. "He certainly doesn't want to talk to me about the whole Buffy and Spike thing."

That got Giles' attention.

"What Buffy and Spike thing?" he asked. Come to think of it, he hadn't had the urge to stake Spike recently -- obviously, the only explanation was that he hadn't =seen= Spike recently.

"Oh," Cordelia said, exchanging a frantic glance with Wesley, "well, um -- I mean, you know . . . Wes?"

"Yes," Wesley said immediately, "Well, you know--"

"Buffy almost boinked Spike," Cordelia finally spat out. "It happened after she accidentally--" She elbowed Wesley in the ribcage when he coughed loudly, "--heard about the prophecy deal where Angel gets to be human one day in the very vague future."

To say that Giles was confused was an understatement. He was torn between shock at Buffy's actions, and shock at his own dimness.

He felt like a stupid old man for having not fully comprehended the gravity of the situation as it pertained to Buffy. There had been incredible tension between them the past two weeks, and Giles had been concerned, though not overly worried. He'd assumed there had been some sort of lovers quarrel they needed to work through. Obviously he'd seriously underestimated the cause of their rift.

Another shocking emotion occurred to Giles -- anger. Anger at Buffy for doing something so foolish, for recklessly endangering her relationship with Angel, for hurting the vampire in such a callous way. That he found himself feeling badly for Angel was truly astonishing for Giles. Anger, too, at Angel -- his inability to forgive Buffy for her astonishingly stupid behavior had caused the girl he loved more than life extraordinary pain. Giles likened his conflicting emotions to that of a parent, trying to decide which of their children had been in the wrong . . .

Then, of course, there was a healthy dose of relief for finally learning the source of everyone's tension these past weeks. There was also a trace of amusement at the 'oh, shit, we blew the secret what's going to happen now?' looks on Wesley and Cordelia's faces.

They were saved by a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Wesley and Cordelia called out together.

Angel poked his head in the door.

"Angel!" Cordelia greeted enthusiastically. "How are you?"

"I need to speak with Giles," Angel said somberly. "Alone."

Wesley and Cordelia broke land speed records exiting the room. Giles would have smiled had the expression on Angel's face not been so grave and nervous.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Giles asked the vampire kindly.

After a moment of loaded silence, Angel answered softly.

"I need to ask you something."

my bones call to you
in their separate skin
make myself translucent
to let you in

Buffy wasn't really asleep.

After her dramatic departure from the poker game earlier, she'd headed straight for her bedroom and one of the shirts in the hamper. Angel's scent clung to the black silk and she'd shimmied out of her own clothes, wrapped the much-too-large-for-her- frame shirt around her body and promptly fell into a heap on the bed.

Ivory colored silk caressed the rest of her body and she pressed her face against Angel's pillow. It didn't seem fair that his presence should be everywhere in this room when he wasn't present, and locked deep down inside his frame when he was. Angel wouldn't let his heart open to her again and no matter how much she hoped, how much she wanted things to be the way they were before, Buffy was finally forced to accept that they never would be.

It didn't mean they couldn't be together, she convinced herself firmly. They just wouldn't be the same together. She would have to get used to some distance between them and maybe, someday, he'd learn to let her in again. He still believed in her, after all. He wasn't suspicious or mistrustful about her motives or her whereabouts. His hands touched her in all the right ways and he never threw what had happened between her and Spike in her face. He still believed in her.

He just didn't believe in =them= anymore.

Tears escaped from beneath Buffy's closed eyelids and she mentally berated herself for them. What right did she have to cry? He was the one who was hurting. He was the one who'd been gutted.

And he was the one who was never going to let her feel at home in his arms again.

Buffy was not asleep when Angel crept inside their bedroom, but she pretended to be, hoping her tears had dried on her cheeks long enough ago that he wouldn’t see them and feel guilty. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel guilty.

Floorboards creaked beside the bed and something soft brushed against her cheek. Opening her eyes, Buffy found Angel's gaze level with hers, his body crouched down as he kneeled on the floor at the side of the bed. Her nostrils scented something sweet and she looked away from him long enough to spy one of the antique lace roses in his hand, an inch from her face. He'd de- thorned it, and the gesture brought more tears to her eyes -- this time, tears of relief; of hope.

Her tears spilled softly over her cheeks and Angel's thumbs moved up to catch them, brushing the wetness away. She saw that his eyes were wet, too, and her relief < oh God he still wants me please God let him still want me > bubbled over. Closing her hand around his over the rose's stem, she brought it to her nose to inhale its sweet, comforting scent.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly. His face was close to hers because she was lying on his side of the bed, half an inch from the edge. "I'm sorry I've been so distant lately and I'm sorry it took me so long to come to terms with it."

"It's okay," Buffy said, trying to stop a new flow of tears < he loves me he forgives me for real he's not going away again > lurking on the horizon. "Believe me, it's okay."

"It's not, but thank you for saying so," he murmured softly. He swallowed deeply, and he brought his gaze back to hers. "I asked Giles for something earlier," he said in a hushed voice, the perfect, dark stillness in their room settling over them both like a warm blanket.

"What?" Her nose was buried in the rose, her mind fuzzy and stunned less-than-sharp. Hazy, blissful lassitude was the only thing she could firmly connect on other than the perfect, healing scent of the delicatesturdy rose Angel had brought her.

His hand on hers penetrated the fog, though, as he guided it lower on the stem. Resting against the cool cream of their sheets, situated around the stem of her freshly picked rose, was an antique silver Claddagh ring, achingly familiar to Buffy.

"His permission to ask you to marry me," Angel answered quietly.

Her startled, disbelieving gaze flew to his, and if possible, more tears fell down her cheeks.

"You what?" she whispered, too terrified of the crushing disappointment if she'd heard wrong to believe him just yet.< he can't have just -- it must mean something else. But what else could it mean? Maybe he asked for Giles' permission to bury me. Except that makes no sense and he must have said marry and oh, god, I was just ecstatic he wasn't leaving me. >

"Needless to say, he gave his blessing," Angel added solemnly, indicating the ring where it rested on the bed. "The first time I gave you this, it brought me back from a demon dimension. This time, I'm hoping it will break us both out of a different kind of Hell."

Picking the rose up, he let the ring slide down the stem into his palm. He fingered it between his thumb and index finger lightly.

"We've hurt each other so deeply," he mused softly, "and through it all, you've made me happier -- lighter -- than I have any right to be."

"Angel," she whimpered, sitting up on the bed. He was wrong. It was him who'd made her happier and lighter. Even when her entire being had ached from the loss of him -- both times -- she'd still felt better for having held him in her life, in her heart, at all. God, he'd =saved= her so many times now she'd lost count. He brought such pure, perfect pain to her life and she could only bear it because it was born from the depths of such pure, perfect love.

"I told you a long time ago what this ring stood for, to my people," Angel continued as though she hadn't interrupted him, and he had that look in his eyes again, just like he had that night, only this time, he wasn't going to go away . . .

"The hands are for friendship, the crown is for loyalty, and the heart means that I love you more than anything in this world," Buffy whispered, looking down at his left hand, at the ring he must have taken from his right while he'd been away from her today. He'd placed the Claddagh he'd never stopped wearing on the finger you'd wear a wedding band.

"And it means that you belong to me," he added, gently stroking the little bones in her left hand with his thumb, touching the spot that would never be visible to his gaze again, because Buffy was determined to never remove that ring from her finger ever again. "That we belong to each other," he added, bowing his head in wonder for a moment before looking up at her again. "You make me a better man, Buffy. You make me forget that I'm not really a man at all."

"You are," Buffy said forcefully, squeezing his hand tightly. "Angel, you're the greatest man I know."

Angel smiled at her, softly, gratefully. "You have a beautiful heart, Buffy, and I want to keep it safe and warm, for the rest of your life, just like I have from the moment I saw you."

"Even if . . ." The words 'you become human' were left unspoken.

"For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until we are parted by death," he vowed quietly.

"Until we are parted by death," she agreed, her voice equally hushed.

"Buffy, marry me," he said, and while there was definite pleading in his tone, she didn't detect a question.

Her lips curved into a playful smile. "Like it's even a question."

Angel laughed softly, and she returned his laugh with a smile of her own. Then, she added, "Besides, I just took a vow."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm obtuse."

Buffy's heart felt like it would burst for how much she loved him in that moment. How grateful she was to have him by her side; how incredibly lucky she was that he still wanted to be with her. How amazing it was that they could both still want each other after everything that had come before.

"Yes, Angel, I will marry you," she said in a clear, calm voice. "I will keep you safe and be your best friend and love you and make love to you and always forgive you and listen to you and be with you for as long as we have." There were still tears leaking down her cheeks but, oh, they were such good tears.

With a grin that cracked her heart in two, he came up on his knees, gripped the back of her neck with his palm, and pulled her mouth to his for a kiss. His right hand fumbled for the ring, pulled her hand to him, and slipped it on her finger, heart pointing in, his lips never leaving hers.

When he tried to pull away, Buffy used her considerable strength to tumble them both to the bed. He landed on top of her, and she brought her legs up around him to hold him close, the same way her arms held him.

They both laughed softly when their legs tangled, then sighed when Angel removed her shirt.

"That looked suspiciously like one of mine," he murmured against the side of her neck.

"I needed to be close to you," she whispered, tossing his black pullover in the direction he'd sent her borrowed silk shirt.

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he let his hand run slowly up and down her side. "I'm right here," he promised her quietly, taking her hand in his, twining their fingers together. "Always."

Buffy smiled softly and turned her head until their lips met again. His hands moved over her the way they used to, and a joyous sob caught in her throat as she pulled him closer.

"I'm getting that," she whispered against his mouth.

there is this hunger
this restlessness inside of me
it knows that you're no stranger
you're my gravity

Silk slid against their bodies and Buffy wondered if the urge to cry with all the joy in her heart would ever pass.

Angel's mouth was close to her cheeks, his tongue lapping up every tear she shed, drinking them down like consecration, begging forgiveness for every ounce of her pain.

She loved that about him.

There were so many things that she loved about him, though. The curve of his back when he hovered over her, making them both wait. The press of his fingers between her legs as he gently coaxed her to moan for him just so. His tongue, so talented, teasing the scar on the side of her neck, taunting her with remembered passion and inciting the bloodlust that raged beneath her skin.

A thousand things that she loved about him and a thousand things she would miss desperately when he was gone.

Despite what he said, she wasn't stupid. The day would come when he would become human and she would let him go with wide-open arms because she wanted everything for him. After a lifetime of pain and darkness, she wanted him to be able to live in the light if he was able.

Buffy wanted to see what Angel's children would look like, and if whatever woman he decided to have them with allowed it, Buffy hoped to be able to watch them grow up. She wanted Angel to get old, to see his reflection, marred with wrinkles, but no less beautiful to her. Finally, she understood as she held him so close, why he was able to leave her all those years ago.

He intended to be with her for always; he would not have offered her his ring, would not have said aloud those words she'd longed for since she was sixteen if he hadn't intended forever with them. But Buffy wouldn't allow him to stay because of a beautiful promise when there was life waiting for him without her.

But maybe, she thought desperately as she pressed a kiss to his collarbone, crying out softly at his thumb brushed just so against her, maybe it won't happen for awhile yet.

They would have time together, a little chunk of eternity that she'd be able to hold close when she was all alone in the dark again.

Soft, gentle lips pressed against her tightly closed eyelids and his hand brushed over her hip.

"Look at me, Buffy," he whispered, settling into the welcoming cradle of her hips.

Opening her eyes, she gasped as he entered her in one smooth stroke.

"I will never leave you," he vowed softly. "I will never let you leave me. If you try, I'll spend the rest of my life -- eternal or mortal -- finding you again."

More tears < am I ever going to stop crying again? > came and she wrapped her legs around him, one of her palms cradling his cheek while her left hand reached out to his, their fingers twining.

"Promise?" she whispered around a tiny sob.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose and she realized that he was crying, too.

"You found me again, didn't you?" he murmured against her mouth.

Buffy sobbed in earnest this time, and he swallowed down her cries. She had found him again, hadn't she? It had taken so much pain, so many twists and turns she had never imagined possible, but she'd found him at last and then she couldn't think anymore because they were kissing, kissing, kissing, their bodies melting until they rocked together, barely moving.

Tilting her head to the side, Buffy offered him her throat and he broke away from her mouth, meeting her gaze solemnly for a moment before bending his head to her neck. His fangs sank into her flesh and the pleasure rushing through her body intensified. The hand that had been cradling her head so gently began to urge her forward and Buffy fastened her mouth to his neck in return.

And this was not wrong, this was not a cheap thrill like handcuffs and scented oil. It was holy and beautiful and sacred, total trust and love and commitment flowing between them and whatever good intentions Buffy had of letting him go one day were lost as they shared bodies and blood and love, sealing the vow between them.

< I now pronounce you husband and wife, Amen >

my hands will adore you
through all darkness aim
they will lay you out in moonlight
and reinvent your name
for i am wanting
i am needing you
here inside the absence
of fear

 

The End

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