DISCLAIMER: Blah blah Gaia... blah blah moon... Oops, sorry, wrong blah line. It's late. I don't feel clever. Just don't sue me.
TIMELINE: This is a tough one. My beloved friend and beta 'Ria and I have been working on unwinding the timeline of this, which was supposed to be a one shot, but has turned into a series. This story takes place in "The Distant Future" sometime. Buffy has been dead for at LEAST 200 years... Angel is around 500 years old, at this point. They were together for roughly 80 years before Buffy died, and they were apart for about 10 before that. So let's do the math: (Gods, I hate math...) Ten years from GDII to B/A reunion = 2010. 80 years from that = 2090. 200 years from that = 2290. Rain and Angel met roughly a year and a few months ago... so it is now around 2291... February. But don't quote me on that. It may change... :)
SPOILERS: Not a one. Not really, anyway... And you know what I was thinking? How would you know something was a spoiler unless someone pointed OUT to you that it was a spoiler? Just a rhetorical question...
SYNOPSIS: Rain has been called. Angel finally got off his ass and ran to her side, and is now spending the night wondering what he should do next.
DISTRIBUTION: YAH, YAH! Take it!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I swear to the HOLY MOTHER of ALL that I will sit down and rewrite ALL of this someday, to make it more consistent. Thank you all for the wonderful feedback on the last parts!
FEEDBACK: Well, if I liked the OTHER feedback, doesn't it stand to reason that I want MORE? ;)
RATING: PG-13, cuz Rain's got a bit of a filthy mouth.

Angel:

Whistler once told me I was... what was the word he used? I believe it was "poignant".

Poignant. At the time, the comment passed right by me, unnoticed. Probably because eighty years of guilt and starvation had left me more than a little muddled.

A demon with a soul. An immortal with a human heart... and human memories. The descriptions of my state of being sometimes marched across my mind -- the band leaders in the parade of pain that has been my life. It consumes every one of my thoughts, some days...

If I'd had the chance to think about Whistler's comment clearly at the time, no doubt I would have punched the demon in his ratty little face. Poignant, indeed.

But... I hadn't had the presence of mind to do it. That was almost 250 years ago, now... And now I found myself sitting in my office, thinking about that very thing -- the poignancy of my relationship with the Slayer. Another Slayer. A different Slayer, and yet, fundamentally, the same one. The only soul I've ever truly loved was contained within this woman, who lived centuries after Buffy's death. I had known of her rebirth, thanks once again to the Whistler, and I'd gone to her, as he knew that I would... hoping to keep her safe until she was Called... and, perhaps, after.

When this began, I thought that keeping my distance -- and my secrets -- was the best way to handle things, this time. I should have known better... my attempts had failed with Buffy, as well. No reason this should be any different.

Of course I was in love with Rain. I'd been in love with her for half my life, whether she remembered who she was, or who I was, or not. But I refused to put her through what Buffy had had to go through, in spite of my feelings. So I played dutiful friend and mentor, keeping her at arms' length, protecting her from the shadows she had yet to see, and teaching her to protect herself.

But always, always at arms' length.... never closer.

It wasn't easy. I knew she had feelings for me, and more than once, we came close to crossing that line... When all the hidden truths within us would come bursting to the surface, and there would be no more hiding...

But I dodged them, somehow, like the deadly projectiles I knew they would be. The last time, when I came so close to kissing her, on Valentine's Day, I ran. Bolted like a coward, unable to handle the rush of feeling that stifled my breath and my good sense in a single, crushing motion. I didn't call her. I didn't stop by. I avoided all the places I usually came into contact with her. I collapsed in on myself and my memories of Buffy, and swore that I would never go near Rain Summers again, even if she did wear my beloved's face and bear her soul. I couldn't... wouldn't... go through that again. Nor would I put some other poor woman through it. It would be like making Buffy relive every nightmarish moment of our relationship. And there was no way I would do that to her... no way I would injure her soul yet again.

Then I got the message. Rain was crying hysterically, obviously distraught, ranting and raving about some "asshole Brit" who tried to convince her she was "some kind of fucking superhero or something", and that she was going to die and go to Hell. And she wanted to know where the Hell I was.

Rain had been Called, and I was nowhere to be found. Some champion.

And so, true to form, I went to her. What choice did I have?

She was, as I had suspected, enraged to the point of senselessness, sitting in the darkness, alone. I could feel the shock, anger and pain coming off her in waves, but she kept her tough demeanor and started swearing at me, instead of breaking down. Only the shaking of her body gave away her fear.

I didn't ask her what was wrong. I already knew, far too well. It was a moment I'd been waiting for for over a year. Protecting her had become a full-time job, requiring that I even follow her in the day, to keep the evil from her. I was starting to wonder what the Hell the Council was waiting for. Rain was already too old to be called, and dangerously untrained. So I'd taken it upon myself to teach her everything I knew, basing my choices of combat styles on Buffy's, hoping their strengths would be similar. Thankfully, I was correct. With the exception of her extraordinary psychic abilities, Rain's style was identical to Buffy's -- tight, fast, efficient, and hard. With flair.

Watching Rain move was like seeing a million scenes of my life all over again. A very heady experience.

So now, there it was. The Calling. It was all uphill, from here.

I held her for the first time, that night, broken and crying in my arms. Gods, I loved her. Loved her still, as I had for over 200 years... as much as the first time I realized I did. Maybe more...

Rain was so tiny... so warm... I felt her pain in my bones as I held her, and she sobbed over the remains of her once-normal life, washing away with her tears. I felt horrible for not being there when it happened. But even so, I was also glad I hadn't been. The Watcher might have known who I was, if he was a good student. And how could I possibly explain my presence, my purpose, to Rain? She had accepted me into her life without question, with a deep trust that must have come from her soul's memory. For her to find out the rest... she would most certainly see it as a betrayal of that trust.

How could I tell her? How could I possibly explain over 500 years of life, to this young woman who didn't even believe in souls, or vampires, or any of the other fantastic things required to fully understand the story? How could I explain to her that I had loved her hundreds of years before she was born? That I had spent another lifetime with her, an eon ago? Or how I had been in mourning for her for 200 years?

She would never have believed me. And even if she had, she surely would have hated me for it. Knowing would have torn her sense of self... of time, of love, of the fabric of reality, asunder.

I couldn't hurt her like that.

So I'd done the easier thing -- the thing I best knew how to do -- I kept my secrets to myself, and I taught her how to fight. But somewhere along the line, she fell in love with me. I could see it in her green eyes... her smile... I could feel it in the way her heart beat and her blood sang when we were close.

It was unbearable, to have to hold back from returning those feelings, which hadn't faded even the tiniest bit, since her soul had left this realm... left me alone, with only my dreams and memories of her.

But the Whistler had done it again -- reconnected us, throwing my broken heart into a tailspin of confusion and doubt... of more longing and love than I had ever before experienced.

Can you imagine the sensation of seeing your long-dead lover, suddenly alive once again? I wanted to rail about the unfairness of it all. But truth be told, just being able to see my heart's mate again, alive and full of life... made every moment of the pain well worth it.

The night Rain was Called, she shouted and cried herself hoarse, in my arms. And after two straight hours of holding her while she wailed senselessly, she finally and simply lost consciousness, slumping against me. I held her like that for a long time, remembering... wondering if there was any way under the Heavens that things could again be between us the way they once were...

I thought a lot about the day Buffy and I were married, after almost ten years wasted playing stupid "Come here - go away" games with one another... That starry night, we took vows before our loved ones and the Powers That Be, to be together. Not until the day we died, but "until the end of time."

225 years later... but it was still time, right? Our vows still stood, blazing as strongly in my soul as the day I had spoken them, looking into Buffy's perfect green eyes as I slid the simple silver band on her finger. I still wore the matching band on my left hand, and wore hers on a chain around my neck.

Could I now forsake those vows, for Rain? Was I bound to this incarnation of my life's only love? And if I was, was it fair to expect her to be bound to me?

As I carried Rain gently to her room, unable to tear my eyes from her beautiful face, I simply wasn't sure. It was as it had always been, between us. I loved her, but I wasn't certain I should. She loved me, but I knew I didn't deserve it.

I tucked her into her bed, and sat in the chair alongside, watching the deep and even rise and fall of her breathing, listening to the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat like soothing music, and wondered -- what would I tell her, when she woke? How would I answer her pointed, and understandably angry, questions? Should I tell her everything?

The moonlight glanced off the cross I'd given her for Valentine's Day, and I knew. I would have to be honest, but only to a point. This woman was Buffy, but she didn't know, and wouldn't understand that I loved her both for that, and for the woman that she was, now. She would never understand who I really was, or the things I had done. Knowing it all would only wound her more deeply than she already was. Her reality was already slipping away; what right had I to burden her further, by taking away her best friend?

I sat vigil beside her through the night, drawing the blinds when the dawn threatened. I was not going to leave her again, whatever her reaction might be when she woke.

Some part of me wished that her talent for empathy could extend to the undead. Then, she would just know how I felt about her, and no explanations would be necessary. No words would need to pass between us, there would simply be an understanding... an acceptance... the simple, unquestioning camaraderie her ancestor and I once shared.

It was selfish, but it was how I felt. I craved that simplicity... if only she would remember...

Buffy had. Despite the promise of the infernal Oracles that she never would, one day in the fifth year of our marriage, the gates of her memory just burst open. Buffy came barreling into my office, screaming and raging at me for never telling her about the day I was human -- for having been so stupid and short-sighted and wasting all those years when we weren't together, because she didn't know what I had done. I accepted her punishment... I deserved it, because she was right. There was nothing the two of us couldn't face... nothing we couldn't overcome, so long as we stood together. For all the years we were separated, I had forgotten that.

Time proved Buffy right, and we were able to spend 80 glorious years together, until the day she took her last breath in my arms, vowing with the final ounce of her strength that she would find me again.

And so she had. Buffy never made a single promise to me that she didn't keep.

But did I have the right to assume that Rain would feel the same? Would it be violating her will to ask that she give what her ancestor promised?

By the time Rain began to stir, late in the afternoon, I was no closer to a decision than I had been the long night before. All I knew for certain was that, whatever I decided would leave us treading precariously on the proverbial thin ice.

Rain Summers was a very dangerous woman, to me -- a storm in my heart and soul that threatened to wash me away in the blink of her perfect green eyes. And I wasn't sure how to stop it, or even if I wanted to.

*********************

Rain:

When I woke, my head was pounding from all the crying I'd done. I was confused... my head muddled to the point that I could barely remember what happened the day before. The room was mostly dark. I looked over to the windows, and saw that the blinds were drawn. How long had I been sleeping?

And then I saw Angel, sitting in the chair next to my bed, looking at me. I can't describe his expression -- it was one of those uniquely Angel looks that seemed to say a hundred things at once, and yet was painted over by a mask of impassivity. Not that he didn't care, but that he didn't want me to know what he was thinking. Typical.

"Hi," I said quietly, too comfortable in the warm darkness to shatter it with my voice.

Angel sat forward, leaning toward me with his forearms on his knees.

"Hi," he said evenly.

His voice never betrayed his thoughts, either. Brilliant trick, that.

Things were coming back to me, now. Demons... Hell... my Calling... the fat Englishman in the bad suit... and my irrational anger with Angel for not being by my side when my life exploded into a gory mess.

I lay there, staring at him, and he stared right back. I was so tired... so completely sucked dry, inside. I hardly had the energy to move or speak any further. And Angel didn't seem to feel any compunction to do so, either.

I remembered my brief flash of realization during Roger Lowenthal's visit -- that Angel's mysterious appearance in my life, and the role he chose to play in it were somehow connected to this whole Slayer business.

It didn't take long for me to find my anger again.

"Okay, Angel... let's just cut to the chase. Who are you?" I asked him, hoping I didn't need to explain what I meant.

Would he play dumb? Would he try to evade my question? His smooth brow scrunched in thought, and his eyes flicked away from me, to some spot on the bedspread.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," he replied.

I shifted a little so I could lean on my pillow and still look straight into his sad brown eyes. We'd shared a lot, Angel and I. Not so much words as moments and experiences. I felt I knew him far better than the amount of personal information he shared with me (which was, practically, none) should allow. Even though my natural empathy was useless on him, for some reason, I knew in my bones that he wasn't avoiding me, only telling the truth as he saw it.

"How about truthfully?" I said, still too tired to raise my voice, "You knew about all of this. About Roger Lowenthal... about the Slayer... about me."

Angel blinked a couple of times, then slowly nodded.

I sighed. Boy. Even though I had already more or less known the answer, it still hurt.

"Why didn't you say anything?!" I asked him angrily.

He held my gaze evenly, "Would you have believed me, if I had?" he asked, his voice never wavering, and his expression never changing.

I thought about that seriously for a minute.

"No," I admitted, "I would have thought you were nuts and told you to take a flying leap."

Angel nodded his understanding.

I sat up and fluffed the pillows behind my back, so I could sit up against the headboard.

"So... I guess the next question is," I turned and looked him straight in the eye once more, "What's your role in all of this?"

He looked at me as though my question surprised him. "I'm your friend," he answered simply.

I laughed.

"Is that funny?" he asked, his voice the tiniest bit wounded.

"You betcha!" I snapped sarcastically, "Here, all this time, I thought you liked me for my breathtaking beauty and sterling wit... when all along, you've got a thing for future superheroes. My friend. That's funny, alright."

Angel definitely got an expression, that time, but Hell if I could describe it. It was a new one... almost angry, but like all of his others, such an unreadable, confounding amalgam of emotions, I just couldn't be sure.

"Do you work for Mr. Lowenthal's Circus of Fun?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"I thought you were going to do the talking, here," I reminded him.

He looked at me seriously. "I never said that."

"Then why are you still here, Angel?" I asked him, "You're obviously not who you said you were..."

"I never said I was anybody."

Which was true. And left me kind of stumped for somewhere to go. How could I hold him accountable for lying, when he'd never actually lied?

"But you just conveniently show up one day and start following me around, saving me from dire peril, then you start chatting me up on 19th century art, and then you make me into your Karate Kid or whatever... and I gotta tell you, I don't have a lot of 'friendships' that started out that way."

I was going for the low blow, now...

Angel considered me carefully for a few long minutes, his posture more tense than usual, as though he were arguing silently with himself about something.

"It's... difficult to explain, Rain," he said, "But you have to know. I do care about you. And that has nothing to do with you being the Slayer."

Half of me wanted to take him at his word. The other half, however, wanted to punch him square in his gorgeous face.

"You'll have to excuse me if I find that hard to believe," I said.

Angel nodded. "I understand," he said. If I'd hurt him, he didn't let it show.

We stared at one another, and damned if there wasn't that feeling again... my heart pounding and a wind rushing through me that whispered secrets I thought I should know, but didn't know how to comprehend. My fury didn't abate one bit, but a deep melancholy joined it... an ancient sadness that didn't belong, and it broke me, deep down inside. I didn't want my life to change. I didn't want my destiny to have a capital D, and I didn't want Angel to be anything more or less complicated than what he appeared to be -- a mysterious, handsome stranger who somehow, for some reason I couldn't fathom, cared about me.

"Why did you seek me out?" I asked him, "How did you know?"

It was obvious he had an answer to that already prepared -- I wondered if he had sat and thought about it all night.

"I have friends who know about all of this business. They told me you were to be called. I wanted to help," he answered.

It seemed to make sense, if you took the words at their face value. I didn't. I would never trust that easily, again.

"Why?" I asked.

He looked at me seriously, and once again, I felt that pain coming off of him, and flowing over me, as though we were connected, somehow.

"Because I knew a Slayer once before. And I know how difficult and dangerous that life can be. I wanted to make it easier on you," he said.

It was a heartfelt speech, even if it didn't completely answer my question. It touched me, and I felt my kinship with, and love for, Angel grow larger than my confusion and anger.

"I just wish you had told me... said something... so I would be prepared," I told him, looking away. His gaze was too intense for me to handle.

"I prepared you the only way I knew I could," he said, "I taught you to defend yourself. Slayers are usually called long before your age. I thought it was more important to help you survive than to help you understand."

"I still don't get it, Angel. Why you? Why would you risk yourself to help me? You didn't even know me."

"Maybe I know you better than you think," he replied cryptically.

I winced. "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shook his head. "Does it really matter why, Rain? You have to know... I do care about you, very much. That's why I chose to come forward. I wanted you to have all the help you could get when the time came."

Another realization suddenly dawned on me. A little thought that made so many moments of the past year make so much more sense.

"That's why you won't get involved with me," I observed, "Because you know I'm going to die."

He blanched visibly, and became a shade paler than his usual pale.

"You're not going to die," he objected, "Not while I'm around."

"But..."

"No, Rain... I can't... we can't be together, like that. You need to be focused on your duty. On staying alive, not on getting involved with me," he said, "Believe me. It would do you more harm than good."

I watched his attention draw inward... watched him walk away to some distant past in his mind, as he so often did when we were together. What was he not telling me?

"She died, didn't she?" I asked him, "You loved her, and she died. You feel like it was your fault. And you want it to be different, with me."

Angel didn't respond, but his pain was clear, for the first time, on his handsome features. My heart absolutely broke for him, my anger instantly forgotten. I sighed and sunk back down under the covers. I knew more, now... but the knowledge was incomplete, and didn't make any of what lay ahead any easier to face.

But somehow... whatever his secrets might be... having Angel beside me did. I looked over at him once more.

"Okay," I said, "You don't have to tell me. I'm just... I'm glad you did come forward. I'm glad you're here. I do need you."

I was terrified, and he knew it. And then Angel -- "I can't get closer than three feet away" Angel -- took off his wool greatcoat, and kicked off his shoes, looking down at me with unbearable tenderness. Then, he climbed into my bed and lay tight against me, holding me in his arms as I broke down in tears once again.

"I'll keep you safe, Rain," he whispered as he pulled me close, "I promise." .

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