Disclaimer: Just pretend I found something witty to say about all the legal stuff, 'kay? Oh, and I own nothing. Honest.
Rating: Same as the shows. PG-13?
Distribution: It's up at Twin Flames (URL= www.calla.co.uk), if anyone else wants it they're very welcome, but I'd like to know where it's going.
Spoilers: Everything is fair game. Takes place after Chosen and Home.
Summary: Sequel to "Yours" which can be found at my website. Not giving away any more than that *g*.
Dedication: For those who asked for a sequel to "yours" and, of course, Alley for fic-ish services beyond the call of beta duty!

"So, there's this guy. Actually he's kind of *the* guy, but anyway...

I don't talk about him much and I try not to think about him- 'cause there lies the path to the asylum and I kinda did that already.

So. This guy. He's in my life, then he's out of my life, then he's in it again...but recently? He's mostly out- way out. In-a-whole-other-town out. At least I thought he was. And then, I get this letter. Not through the mail, no sirree, 'cause I'm not really normal's favorite girl. No, my letter comes all wrapped up in a handy here's-how-to-save-the-world shaped package. Neat, huh?

Only not so much.

I'm not complaining, it was a good letter, a very good letter. Best one I ever had, that's for sure. But I was sorta thinking it's my turn now, it's my turn to have a say.

And I'm going to. I'm gonna say it all and you're not going to interrupt me because I *really* need to get through this, okay?

I was gonna make some notes, but I figure, hey, I made a lot of great speeches recently, I can make one more, right? Wow, this really isn't coming out the way it did in my head, you know, with all smart Giles-y words and perfect grammar...oh, God, I'm rambling, aren't I? I *so* wasn't gonna do that. No rambling, no yelling and no crying. Those were the rules.

Okay, I can do this. I'm just gonna start at the beginning. That makes sense.

The guy. I met him when I was really young, the kind of young where no one believes you're actually capable of being in love. Because you're just a kid, right? And he was older than me, *a lot* older, which didn't help. I've wondered, you know...maybe the only time you can be so completely in love is when you're too young, when you don't have all those experiences and expectations to confuse things? But then, that doesn't make sense either 'cause I think he loved me the same way- no- I *know* he did.

I really do know that.

Like, without any doubt. That's something, isn't it?

But that doesn't help my theory 'cause no one could say *he* wasn't old enough to be in love. Maybe he was too old. How can you live so long and not get all twisted and cynical? I'm still years from pushing thirty and I'm not exactly a ball of sunshine anymore. To be fair, I've seen more than most girls my age, but hundreds of years...hundreds. And he still has hope. That takes some serious courage.

Maybe that's what I saw in him. Maybe that's why I fell for him so quickly, why I couldn't imagine a future without him...why it hurt so damn badly when he left-

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

There I was, a teenager, crazy in love with this guy, who for some reason loved me back. Who saw something in me that no one else did. And I was happy. Crappy things happened and on paper we were a really bad idea, but I was happy. And I was safe. Ring out the bells, someone had finally come to save me- he was the only one who could, the only one who didn't *need* me to save *him*. Actually, between you and me? I think I did anyway, just a little. And I learned from that. I learned to trust myself. I learned to believe in people, the most unlikely people.

Then on my seventeenth birthday, the little world I'd built for myself, that little scrap of peace...it all came crashing down. Wasn't enough that he's immortal- and I'm not- that he's a vampire- and I'm a slayer...nope.

There had to be a curse as well.

He turned evil, my *boyfriend* turned *evil*. I wanted to run away and hide. I thought he was the only thing I couldn't fight- I was wrong. He taught me better than that. I knew the thing wearing his face was the thing that had taken him away from me...and I wanted to hurt it. A lot. But when I finally found the courage to do something about it, when I was ready...poof...some magic, an old spell and there he was. Staring up at me. Confused. Afraid. And I just stood there with a sword in my hand- a *sword*- what seventeen-year-old girl has one of those? For God's sake-

I'm sorry. I'll be okay. I said I wasn't going to cry.

God. No, I'll be okay.

I need to finish this.

So. I-I stood there and I knew. I *knew* what I had to do and I would rather have ripped my own heart out- I could probably do that, you know- anything would have been better than telling that lie. 'Cause when I kissed him, it was a lie. He didn't know. I was saying goodbye and he had no idea and- and I told him to close his eyes and he trusted me. He loved me and he trusted me.

And I pushed a sword through his stomach.

I- th-there was this portal. There's always one of those, right? It swallowed him like he was nothing. And then he was gone. Not just dead. Gone. No funeral, no gravestone, no family to mourn with. Nobody else that even cared. So, I ran. I lost myself, or I thought I did, but he was there. He was always there. He always found me.

And eventually, I went home. I didn't exactly get a warm welcome- you can't really count a party if it gets crashed by zombies before the band's second set. But I kinda settled. I knew I could never get over it, that I couldn't be the same, but I made a place for myself.

Good for me, I thought...and everyone agreed. Until he came back. Some kind of sick miracle brought him back and he was broken. I could see what I'd done to him, it was right there in front of my eyes and I didn't know what to do, there was no one to help me. When my friends found out, they were mad, they tried to kill him for God's sake! And I was scared, scared of what he was before, of the thing that lived inside him, of what he'd become, scared that he'd never be the same, scared that if I opened up to him again, if I let him in and then I lost him...I was scared that, the next time, I wouldn't be able to stand it. What if I just curled up and died?

So, I kept him at arms length and we tried to be friends, but who were we kidding, right? We weren't friends. There was something there, something between us that I didn't understand- I don't think he did either.

Whenever he kissed me, everything else would fade away, all he had to do was touch my face and I would feel things that no one else could ever- I can't explain it. My body reacted differently to him. I *felt* him differently. I couldn't control it.

I would go to sleep at night and know he was watching me. When he was with me, I was stronger, more focused- as a person, as the Slayer. And that was enough for me, that's what I wanted. Not some guy to take me out sunbathing or give me children. I know those are the things that girls are supposed to dream about, but I'm not just any girl, my life isn't be that certain. Maybe, for a while, I thought he was right. He had to be didn't he? They all had to be right, my mom, my friends...it was doomed. End of story.

Only not. I had pretty much accepted a life without sex by the time I was *eighteen*, can you understand what that means? I wasn't some deluded schoolgirl hoping for the best. I *loved* him. I wanted to be with him, *only* him, whatever the cost.

I already knew that, but then he goes and gets himself shot with a poison arrow and I nearly lost him completely. I was willing to kill, I was willing to take a life- the life of someone I knew- to save him. And I was willing to risk my own life because I knew what I had *before* it was gone. And guess what? He got better, then he went ahead and left me anyway. I told him at the prom that I understood why he was leaving- who has to deal with that kind of pain at their freaking prom? But, you know, when he walked away, when he turned his back on me and my freshly demolished high school- I didn't understand. I wanted to scream and cry and beg. And I did nothing.

Then there was Parker and Riley, and me pretending I was okay. For my friends' sake, for his sake. That's what he wanted, wasn't it? For me to move on? Only he didn't take well to the reality of the idea. Maybe it was cruel of me, but I was glad. I guess I wanted him to see that he was wrong. And he almost did once- at my mother's graveside of all places. I think I kind of asked him to come home and I think he kind of offered to, but I didn't want it to be about me needing him. It was supposed to be about him wanting me- and I figured if I gave him more time he might realize that we belonged together, that we couldn't be normal, that being with me wasn't selfish or too dangerous...

And, boy did I ever prove that- I went and died. Literally. Honest-to-goodness jumped into a big, swirly, mystical something or other and died. I called him, you know, when I realized what I had to do. I wanted to hear his voice again...I wasn't going to say goodbye, maybe just ask how things were in L.A., but I needed to know he was there, that there would be a part of us left when I was gone. Even if nobody else cared. He wasn't home.

Ironic, right?

I never counted on getting myself resurrected- strike two for Miss Nine Lives. I never counted on having a welcome-back-from-the-dead conversation with him either. I said all the things I thought he wanted to hear- and he didn't argue. I said nothing had changed, we still wouldn't work- and he didn't argue. I was seriously tempted to punch him. What! It's not like I've never done that and I seem to remember him being able to give as good as he got.

So, off he went, apparently on course for a nasty run-in with some mind-warping goddess- *so* glad I wasn't around to see that horror story (seriously, Cordelia?)- and off I went to have violent, abusive sex with the closest thing he ever had to family. Brother, son, cousin, I don't know how the whole vampire family tree works out, but I needed to feel something- anything. And I did.

He's gone by the way, Spike's gone. I don't know what to think about it. He looked after me, recently at least, and I cared about him. I even cried a little on the way over here. I actually cried. But it's what he wanted, it's what I wanted for him- that's why I let him wear the amulet. He deserved a chance to prove himself. And now he's gone.

I told him that I loved him, maybe I did in a way, not like a boyfriend, not like Willow or Xander or Giles- it was something else. Something different. Just for him. I'll probably never understand it, not like he did. He was like my big brother and a little puppy I had to take care of...all rolled into one. He knew it wasn't true, he knew I was never *in* love with him, and I'm glad. Glad that, in the end, it wasn't about me. He was doing it for himself.

So, now what? There are all these slayers running around that I've unleashed and I'm gonna have to train them somehow and I have this letter in my pocket that says the guy I used to know could probably help with that- having an entire law firm at his disposal and all...

But you see, there were other things in that letter, things I'm having trouble getting my head around.

A day that I'll never remember.

A son.

You know, when I read that, when I read about his son, I actually considered screwing the apocalypse and heading straight for L.A. How could I not have seen it that night, not have noticed something- anything? Was I too busy making jokes about teen angst T.V.? To busy basking in case it as the last time I saw him? Why didn't I see it?

I wish I could take that pain away. I wish I could give him back everything he's lost. I don't care if that includes me, if it meant him living happily ever after with Connor and Darla, it would be worth it.

It's strange to think- Darla. The mother of his son. You have no idea how much that hurts, but it's nothing. *Nothing*. Not compared to what he's suffered.

Why does he always have to suffer? Why should he?

I know I can't give him the one thing he will always crave; I can't give him his son. But I want to make it better. I want to try. I want to give him something- everything I have.

I want to give him me.

The last time I saw him was in a cemetery- where else?- with little splashes of supernatural preacher's blood in my hair and the end of the world a few hours away. Romantic, huh? I wondered how we'd become so easy with each other. When it stopped being all doom and death. Since when were we allowed to hope for a future together?

But once I'd read the letter, I knew. I knew that things had changed, that we'd both changed. I guess when you grow up you realize how important *now* is, and at the same time, you realize that you *have* to have a little faith in someday, otherwise, what's the point?

So, I got to thinking, the guy? He was up for someday, he pretty much said so...he thought that *someday* the kinks would iron themselves out and we'd find a way to be together. And it felt good, knowing that was good, but I just charged full steam into the Hellmouth in the spirit of being assertive, so I figured we could maybe do a little better.

I was planning on some personal growth- I have things to work out- seriously there *are* no therapists for this kind of mess. I know that this guy has things to work out...and I definitely know there's a lot between *us* we have to work out and I thought...

Why pre-heat the oven for a single cookie when you can bake a whole batch all together? Not that he has to or anything, because sometimes people need an entire Teflon-coated baking sheet to themselves you know, but-"

"Can I stop you now?" Angel stood up. He rested his hands in his pockets and moved around the over-sized desk where Buffy was perched with her back to him.

"I was kinda hoping you would," she answered, glancing down at her deeply patterned skirt, avoiding his gaze. Angel hesitated for a second, unable to remember a time when she didn't stare straight back at him, matching his intensity, no matter how difficult or painful the situation.

He moved closer, stopping in front of her, sliding a hand across her cheek, retracing every familiar curve...mapping the new ones with awe. He tilted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye, seeing her face properly for the first time since she had walked into his office without knocking.

"I can assure you," he promised, "*This* guy would like nothing more than to bake with you for the rest of his life."

Buffy smiled, that glorious, bright smile she seemed to save just for him, and her voice reclaimed its playful lilt, "I was kinda hoping he would."

He leaned in to kiss her, the soft rays of the afternoon sun streaming through the specially treated glass, lighting her so beautifully that the pages of history fell away.

It was just as he'd hardly dared to dream it would be.

Just as he'd somehow known it would be.

She closed her eyes with absolute trust and pressed her mouth to his.

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered between kisses.

She pulled back a little, breaking the precious contact, searching his eyes for more.

"Am I still your girl?" she asked.

And he smiled, as the memory- one of the good ones- surfaced easily. His lips were desperate to find the familiar path of her throat, hands wanting to seek what bare flesh was available, but for a moment, he just watched her breath.

"Always," he replied finally, taking her hands and kissing each palm in turn. "Now, get off my desk...I have an antique Keshan rug for this kind of thing."

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