DISCLAIMER: I don't have time to be funny about it, lol. They aren't mine.
TIMELINE: Sometime after Season 6's resurrection of Buffy.
SPOILERS: Buffy's resurrection.
SYNOPSIS: No one comes back from the dead without issues. (And a quick poem!)
DISTRIBUTION: Let me know, and then we're cool.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It's kind of angsty (sorry) but it ends fine, trust me. Also, that's a quick poem at the top I wrote. It only kind-of pertains to the story, but I didn't feel the need to make two posts. I hope you like.
FEEDBACK: If you've got a mind to.
RATING: PG. Remember, this isn't the fluffiest thing. Its actually a little sad. It ends WELL, I promise!

"Down into Heaven"
You look down into heaven
surprise, surprise the things you gaze upon
up on the pillows and blankets of earth and sky
upon the rested brows of tired angels,
sleeping sweet and deep with tangled wings
in love with one another,
there are silver stars that are marks of life
and being ageless.

"Are you going to run again?" Angel asked, staring at Buffy's back in the dark morning shadows. She froze, shoulders trembling, just beyond the door. He made no move to get up from his bed, watched her bolt down the hallway and stairs. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

That was the way it went with Buffy. Loving her meant letting her go, just like it had every second they had known each other. Angel had to let her fight, let her live, let her alone, just to make sure she survived him. Their circumstances had changed over the years, going from bad to worse, and then better than had been expected. Life had thrown obstacle after obstacle at both of them, and in the end, Buffy had been transformed into something not human, and Angel had been turned into something not completely vampire. Coping with their new selves, Angel and Buffy had found each other again, and found that there were no longer the usual restrictions.

But neither of them were the same people, and while Angel had nearly three hundred years of dealing with being something `other,' Buffy struggled with her own damage.

So deeply scarred, Buffy had difficulty holding onto the truth of her situation. Angel helped when he could, bleeding with her, being strong for her, letting himself be weak.

They didn't live together, even after ages had passed. She moved around so much, Angel couldn't even be sure where she lived. He stayed in one place as long as he could, and if the need to relocate arose, he made sure she knew, because he couldn't be sure of finding her.

When she could manage, she stayed with him. It was never very long, a month at most. After a point, Buffy's faith in him began to waver. She tried to fight him, bait him, tried to hate him. Angel handled everything she threw at him with grace. He learned, eventually, that it was hopeless to calm her, tuck her back into bed. The second he was asleep she was gone.

It scared him so much the first time that he didn't sleep until she came back, weeks later. Angel was so happy when she came back that he could have killed her. Buffy made no apologies, gave no excuses. She kissed him and things went on happily for a time.

Then she left again.

She came back.

She left.

It had happened so many times that Angel couldn't count the nights. Now she was running again, and he felt that familiar ache grow as she dissipated in the early morning air. She was terrified of everything, he knew. So abused by life in general, he couldn't blame her for the disappearing act.

That didn't stop him from hating it. He didn't know how to make her understand that after everything that had happened, nothing could go wrong. No matter what happened, no matter what death cared for them, hunted them, he'd never leave her. Angel would always, always be there for her.

She couldn't escape him, and this she proved each time she ran from him. Even when she wanted to, she could not stay away. She always came back.

"Hi," Buffy whispered, leaning against his cheek. It was early evening, and Angel had drifted off to sleep in his armchair. Two months had passed. She was there again, kissing his eyes and smiling. She felt the same to him, just like always. His mind fumed and grieved for her, and then slipped into her haziness. Angel sighed deeply as he looked her over and found her in one piece.

He thought about what he could say to make her understand. He had been thinking about it since she had gone in the first place. Angel linked their hands, entwining his fingers with hers.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard. Her head fell to the side and she stared at him with her eyes half closed. She looked past him, inward, behind them to the past, and her smile wavered.

"I want you to make it better," she mumbled. "But you can't make it better. I don't know if it gets better." Angel wanted to pull her all the way inside him, and suffocate the hurt and pain until she was warm and safe and her mind eased. He couldn't. Instead, he led her by the hands to the roof, high above the ground.

They stood on the ledge together, and he dropped her hands.

"If you jump, I will catch you, Buffy." She stared at him and blinked. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

"Then jump," he said evenly. Buffy gaped at him.

"No, I can't."

"If you believe me, you'll jump."

"Angel." She didn't believe he would catch her. She had stopped believed in him a long time ago.

"Trust me." He stared into her eyes. She looked away, and he knew she was thinking about the peace and quiet of death. Without taking a breath, or pausing for deeper consideration, she dove off the building.

On the ground, Angel broken beneath her, she cried hysterically. He had caught her, as promised, and everything that she had ever felt for him came rushing at her like the ground while she fell. Buffy closed her eyes against his chest and waited for him to move again, if he would.

"I barely understand you, Buffy," he wheezed finally, his hands still gripping her upper arms, vice-like. She shook her head violently, and her tears splattered against Angel's skin.

"No, Angel," she choked. "How could you not?"

"Don't cry," he sighed, running a finger along her cheek. "I told you I'd catch you. I always will," he whispered, and let her fall against him, pushing him further into the concrete. "How could I not?"

And after that, Buffy never left again. He caught her, always, as promised, and she learned that he was going to be there when she needed him.

Forever.

Always.

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