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"No Place Like Home"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com

<I'm sorry.>

<Don't be. I'm =so= grateful you came, Angel. I didn't think
I was going to make it through the night.>

<We have a few more minutes until I have to go.>

"There's no place like . . . Willow."

"What's . . . ?"

"It's Buffy."

He'd been happy. Not perfectly happy, of course, because that sort of thing just wasn't done in his world, but still, there'd been a sort of gentle contentment that had washed over him as their time in Pylea had drawn to a close.

He belonged to someone. To a bunch of someones. And it wasn't in the way he'd belonged to Buffy, the way he still belonged to her, in a sense. It was new, and it was so damned wonderful he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

That was what had gotten him to thinking about Buffy in the first place. Remembering slipping the Claddagh on her finger; recalling the apocalypse (three of them, actually) he'd faced (and that one time caused) by her side; playing the last time they'd spoken over in his mind . . .

He hadn't known. His head had been too full of other things for him to process exactly why these memories were coming up, now, when he'd put them aside since the night of her mother's funeral. He didn't understand. Not until he saw Willow. Not until he got home.

<no place like no place like no place like no place like>

"What's wrong with Buffy?"

Cordelia's voice.

"She's . . . she's gone."

Willow's stricken gaze met his, and he wanted to scream when he realized that, once again, the lifeless words had escaped from his numb lips.

"I thought . . . she would have wanted you to know," Willow said at last.

"Thank you," he said stupidly.

<Thank you.>

<You don't have to thank me.>

<Yes. I do. For being here. For being you. For still loving me, even though things are so impossible.>

<Whenever you need me, Buffy, you know I'll-->

<I know.>

<Promise, if you need anything, anything at all, that you'll pick up the phone-->

<You know me.>

<That's why I want the promise.>

"Buffy's gone?" He felt Cordelia's hand on his arm as soon as the words escaped her mouth. It was a shock. It should have been a shock. It wasn't. His bones had known. He hadn't wanted to come home. So many reasons to stay in that other dimension.

In that other place, he never would have known she was dead.

"How?" Ever the Watcher, Wesley.

"Dawn . . ." Willow cleared her throat; straightened her shoulders and forced tears back. Some part of Angel was proud of the woman she'd grown into; some part of him that
wasn't screaming. "Dawn was going to . . . there was a portal. Energy, and Dawn was the Key, and Buffy had to. She couldn't have . . . not again. It was her or Dawn."

<Not again.> Angel finally found the strength to move -- strength fortified by anguish. <Not again.> He stumbled into the lobby and sat down heavily in the spot Willow had so
recently occupied. <Not again.> He wondered, briefly, how long she had been waiting here. They hadn't been in Pylea for more than three days. When had Buffy left this earth? Had she been dead for more than a night? Two? Had she died while he was so worried about Cordelia, that he couldn't spare the girl he loved, the girl who'd just lost her mother, a second thought?

Strong, gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he cast away that last thought. He couldn't allow himself to be comforted by her <family, sister, friend, belonging>, not now, maybe not ever. Yet he couldn't make himself push her away. He simply stared straight ahead at nothing.

His gaze didn't focus until Willow's bright red hair appeared. She was crouching down on the floor in front of him. Her hands held his tightly, and Cordelia was stroking his hair. Were they afraid? Did they expect hysterics? Tears, screams, some kind of melodramatic display that would somehow show them what she'd meant to him?

Nothing could do that. Didn't they see? He was hollow. How could he cry for her? Scream for her? In a way . . . in a way, he knew, death had been a blessing to her. It was a
blessing to every Slayer. That was something he'd tried -- and failed -- to keep in perspective every moment he'd spent with Buffy. It was too hard, protecting the world. It took too much, to be the one who always made sure everything was right for everyone but herself.

"She didn't . . . suffer." Willow squeezed his hands. "It was . . . quick. The energy field . . . Giles thinks it was like she was floating, flying, and then all of a sudden, she just . . . wasn't anymore. And . . . she saved Dawnie. She sacrificed herself for Dawnie."

None of his deaths had been like that. They'd been painful, and dark, and filled with horrors afterward. He wondered, if Buffy hadn't been forced to kill him, would she have found the strength to kill Dawn, instead? If he had never left her, would she have felt so abandoned? Was there something he could have done if he'd been there?

"I left her so she could have a life. A good life. I didn't leave so she could have a good death."

With something akin to horror, Angel realized he'd spoken aloud. This, then, was something he could be angry at; something he could rage against, perhaps even shed tears
for.

As a demon, he'd walked out of her life so she might have a chance at some shred of the normalcy she craved so desperately. As a mortal man, he'd sacrificed the only true
happiness he'd ever known (true happiness that hadn't been immediately followed by death and pain) so that she would be allowed the one, simple right any human is entitled to -- life. All he'd ever wanted for her was a good life.

And maybe, selfishly, he'd thought that by sacrificing her, he might be allowed something more of her in the future. She was home <and God there was no place like her> and after the battles, after Wolfram and Hart, after Shanshu, he'd so very badly hoped he might be allowed to go home. Now, it seemed home was even farther away than he'd feared.

"You should talk to Dawn," Willow said quietly. It seemed everyone wanted to ignore the small outburst he'd made. That was fine with him. He really hadn't meant to say it out loud. "She . . . she was with her last. Maybe she . . . I don't know."

"Did you . . ." Angel shook his head, trying to clear away the fog. It didn't want to lift. Would it ever lift again? Would he see the sun in his own dimension again? "What did
you . . .?"

Though he didn't know what question he was trying to ask, Willow seemed to understand completely. "We buried her. There was . . . we didn't really have a service. Just a
headstone. She's near her mother, under a willow tree. Xander said . . ." A few tears dripped down Willow's cheeks. "He said that way I could always watch over her."

<Angel, the sun will be up in a few minutes.>

<It's hard.>

<Avoiding the day is pretty difficult-->

<I'm so tired of leaving you, Buffy.>

<Gotta say, I'm pretty tired of being left. I'd say it's about time I was the one to do the leaving.>

<Don't joke.>

<Who's joking? I'm gonna leave you sitting under this tree. Granted, you'll still be the one to actually leave town, but hey, at least I'll have something to hold onto.>

<If there was any way . . .>

"How did you get here?" he asked Willow.

"Bus," she answered.

He nodded. "Then we'll give you a ride back."

She smiled, though it was a twisted, mockery of a smile, and nodded. "Thank you."

"Why don't I drive?" Wesley offered quietly.

"I need to change," Cordelia said, then put her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I don't need to change. We can just--"

"You look like Princess Leia," Angel said quietly. "Wes, take her home to change. We'll wait here for you."

When Cordelia vacated her spot beside Angel, Willow filled it. The redhead put her arms around the vampire, and he did more than he had with Cordelia -- he held Willow back. This was what had been missing from Cordelia's embrace. Cordy was his family. His support system. His best friend.

His Willow.

Buffy had been lucky enough to have the original best friend, and Angel held her to him tightly now.

"I didn't just think you should know," Willow whimpered into his neck. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to be with someone who loved her as much as I did. Who understood. Who'll miss her like I do."

He nodded and rocked and let himself be rocked. He noticed Gunn had disappeared with Fred, and he was glad, because this entire situation was undoubtedly disconcerting to the frightened young girl they'd brought back with them.

"I'll stay and . . . and help with the Hellmouth until . . ."

He didn't let himself finish.

Even when another girl was called . . . she wouldn't be Buffy. She would be the Slayer. But she wouldn't be Buffy.

And she certainly wouldn't be home.

The End

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