I was talking to Cordelia, when it happened. Flirting, though that is strictly off the record. Laughing and joking and stubbornly ignoring the tugging of my heart, the demon roaring in my ears, the prickling of my skin, all which screamed at me that this was not my mate.

That this would never be my mate, and that I would never see my mate again.

//hold touch murmur love//

It was so much easier to bottle the vile acid grief of living without //loving without// Buffy away in that deepest corner of my soul, where I could both cherish it and hide it away from the world, because it was all I had left of her.

She lived in my heart, in her most painful form... all I had was her absence, and that would be all I ever had again.

Supposedly.

To the naked eye, I was fine. A year since her death, and I was back on the horse //rollin' rollin' rollin', keep those doggies moving...//, living life and finding simple happiness - but not *too* much happiness - in the people around me. Even sorta-maybe developing a crush on Cordelia.

But when they all went away, when I was alone with the resounding silence of the screaming within me, I was far from fine.

I have hazy memories of hell; I remember the searing heat of your body being ripped apart, of your soul being shredded and torn and worn down by bitter truth and ugly lies. I remember running, and running, and running, and not getting anywhere, but still running, because of the simple image of Buffy, smiling and beckoning, that was placed before my eyes.

At least I was trying, then.

Wesley talked to me about my feelings for Cordelia, one night, while he'd managed to get me drunk enough to actually own up to having any. He asked me if I loved her, and I do, just... not in that way. I know love, I know true love, I know heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, animal-to-animal love, and as much as I adore Cordelia, I can't love her that way. I could never even try, because all of me sees it as such a big betrayal of Buffy to even contemplate the arms of another woman.

I could think about Cordelia in a juvenile teenage boy way, and I could try and solve my loneliness, my aching despair, by panting after her like a starving dog, but when it comes down to it... I belonged to Buffy...forever. Her //don't think it// death didn't change anything... all it did was extinguish that last little flame of hope I'd held in my heart.

I do have a point, here. Really. It may take me a while to get there, but I will reach it at some point.

I was flirting with Cordelia. According to the guys, it was sunny out, scorching down upon LA like fire and brimstone, sizzling skin and dripping sweat.

I could feel the heat from inside the Hyperion, but it didn't make me warm... I hadn't felt warm in a long, long while.

//Whazza matter?//

//Cold.//

//Blanket?//

//Vampire.//

//Oh...Don't worry, love. I'll be your electric blanket.//

(She climbed over me, wrapping her arms and legs around me, lying on top of me, and pressing loving kisses to my neck. I could feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes.)

//Better?//

(Always better with you.)

//Better.//

Everything reminded me of her, and everything that didn't remind me of her reminded me of her absence.

I was flirting with Cordelia, and she was looking at me strangely, like she often did when I'd smile crookedly at her, and make jokes, and behave in what she termed 'Un-Angel-y-ish ways'. She thought I'd gone insane, which was probably true. I mean, Cordelia, of all people. Why my mind //not my heart, never my heart// was fixating on her, I'd never know. In my soul, in my heart, she'd never be anything but a beloved friend and sister.

I was flirting with Cordelia, when the dead walked in the door.

Wouldn't be the first time, of course. I'm in and out of there all the time, and Spike drops by to get his kicks by taunting me, and an agency like ours gets more than it's fair share of vampires sneaking in and out and trying to do their master's dirty work...but somehow, all of that is different.

The resurrected dead walked through the door. After a year of lying in a coffin, rotting away and joining the earth.

The person before me, though, was in perfect condition, and just as heartbreakingly beautiful as she was in real life.

Buffy.

I was completely numb, completely still, for what felt like seconds to me, but was apparently several minutes, because the first thing I heard was Cordelia's shaking voice, "I think you broke him."

And then Buffy, Buffy's soft voice speaking in that way that she does, the way that's only for me, because she loves me.

"Angel," She murmured, "You alive in there?"

Then, to no-one in particular, sounding rather chagrined, "I knew I should have called first."

Then another voice. Apparently mine. "B-Buffy?"

A small, but astoundingly brilliant smile.

"Hey, love."

"Are you - Are you real?" I choked out.

"I suppose so. We're still trying to come to a final decision on that one."

She sounded flippant, but the slight tremble of my hands told me how nervous and afraid she was.

I had time to note all this before I flew at her, landing at her feet in a less-than-graceful puddle, wrapping my arms around her knees and burying my face against her to try and stop the tears that were suddenly rolling down my face.

She knelt and slid her arms around my shoulders, pulling me to her with a ferocity that only she can claim me with, and then her lips where next to my ear, whispering to me and trying to calm me.

"Shh, baby. Shh. I'm here now, it's okay. I promise, it'll be okay."

I tightened my arms around her, and we sat there like a rather magnificent lump, whispering to each other and stealing quick, terrified kisses, and letting ourselves be weak in order to make us strong.

She sobbed in my arms, after a while. She told me she had mixed feelings about being back... that she was afraid she couldn't live anymore.

That she needed me in her life, because she needed all the bright spots she could get.

What my lady requests...

So now, I sit, on our regular Tuesday night visit, curled up with Buffy and Dawn, the former of which who has fallen asleep against my shoulder, and is drooling a little against the silk of my shirt.

And I feel warm again. Toasty and nice and sunbathed, just because I am in her presence.

My lover. My lady. My sunshine. My electric blanket.

The End

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