Part Eleven

I left Angel with a kiss and an exacted promise not to talk to anyone (or let Cordelia talk to anyone) about my return unless I gave him the OK. He watched me go with terrible eyes, like the ones the other Angel had watched me with, in the other world. He told me he hoped, for my sake, that he never saw me again, but his voice hurt when he said the words. The train back to Sunnydale was almost empty, fitting for the middle of the night. I stopped at a 24-hour store once I got in and picked up some little scented candles and matches, and then I walked to the graveyard.

The grave was easy to find, since I'd been there before. "Hi," I whispered as I sat down, cross-legged in front of the tombstone. I set up the candles in a circle around myself, then placed a few extra in front to give me light to read by. I took off my rings and my watch, anything that I might have that she would not. She'd been wearing her claddagh ring when she died; Willow had thought it odd, because she thought I'd lost it (I had) and told Angel, in hope it might be comforting. He'd hid his surprise from Willow, but not from me, and while I was there he walked over to his bureau, opened the top drawer and took out a little jewelry box. My claddagh ring, which he'd found in the mansion and never dared to offer back to me. He thought I'd bought another, or been given it, and that was the one they buried me (her) with. He gave me mine back, and I left it on my finger, since she had a matching one.

When I sat there in only beige slacks and a white shirt and the ring, I pulled out the first diary and opened it to the date everything had changed. November 25, 1999.

She hadn't written on the 25th itself, since she'd been in LA, but the night of the 27th she'd returned home and filled pages with joy. My joy. It was like reading one of my own daydreams: the things she and Angel did were the things I had always wanted to do with him. Her description of turning to see Angel walking toward her in the sunlight was exactly how I'd always dreamed it would be; I could almost see it happening before my eyes. The pain of seeing him hurt, the frustration with Angel, that was all mine too. And finally, I found what made things different: in that world, the Oracles told Angel there was nothing they could do to change him back. So it wasn't me that was different. It wasn't even Angel. It was just . . . fate.

Things became more familiar after that first entry. She went back to school, and half the things written in that diary were things I had written in my diary. I could recall choosing a specific word, or switching pens because the ink was running out exactly at the place she switched pens. This was my journal, my life, and yet it wasn't. When I'd been flirting with Riley, she was putting him down gently (poor Riley . . . when the whole Spike/me getting married debacle happened, she blithely explained to him that Spike was the childe of the guy she'd just told him she'd been reunited with).

Angel moved to Sunnydale, and apartment hunting, dates, reintegrating him with my friends, joint workout sessions and sneaking off to make love wove in with fighting the Gentlemen, the end of the world (again), turning nineteen, getting involved with the Initiative and finding out about Adam. It amazed me how much of the diary was familiar to me . . . probably three fourths of it were things I'd written in this world. Whole pages could have been transferred, word for word, spelling mistake for spelling mistake, from my diary. Most of the changes were subtle, and almost all of them good. Most of the things relating to Riley were gone, of course, but they were replaced with Angel. All the lonely, confusing times I remember from that year had not been lonely, and many less confusing in the other world. Where I remembered being happy with Riley, she'd been blissful with Angel.

The next diary yielded similar results. Faith had stolen her body as she'd stolen mine, but Angel never slept with her. When Oz was kidnapped by the Initiative, Riley still helped get him out, but stayed with the Initiative to be punished as they saw fit. Everything with Willow and Tara and Oz was the same, her confusion and surprise were expressed in the same words mine had been. There was, of course, no fight between Angel and Riley, though she and Angel argued over his long absence, helping Faith, who still turned herself in to the police. The fight with my friends was almost identical, though in that world I was accused of neglecting them in favor of Angel.

I was accused. Those were the actual words that went through my head, sitting there on that grave. I was accused. I'd stopped identifying us as separate people. Her, me. Or just me?

Summer flew by, still the same, still different. Every interaction I could not remember appeared in my mind, as if I could remember, as if the words were my words after all. They sounded like me, like things I would think and say. Only I'd never really been that happy. That summer was the most different of any of the diaries I read. Without school, or any big bads to fight, she and Angel (Angel and I, I thought, and changed it quickly) had time to get to know each other, to do all those human things I'd never been able to do with him in my world. She described nights of candlelit exploration, trips to the beach, to Disneyland with Dawn, hours in a park reading poetry, graveyard patrols (and makeout sessions . . . for old time's sake, of course), Tai Chi every evening for an hour, talks about good and evil, what it is to be a Slayer, to be human, to be weak or strong, talks about the future, the past and soap operas.

It was not my life. These things I was reading had never happened to me. Angel, the Angel in that world, knew things about me that even I didn't know. But it wasn't like reading a book either. It wasn't like peeking into someone else' diary. What it was . . . it was like hearing your parents tell a story about you as a little kid, about something you did that you forgot, but it *sounds* familiar, it finds . . . an echo, almost, in your head, because it fits there, it fits into your life. That's what it was like reading those diaries. It was, simply, like remembering things I'd forgotten I knew. Only I never had known them in the first place.

I made myself read all of them, right up to when they stopped, just before Glory discovered who Dawn was. It hurt to read them, because so much of it was my own life, and every word did bring back a memory, a real memory, of how much it hurt to see my mother sick and not to be able to save her, of how painful it was to find out my sister was not really my sister, but to love her anyway. The entry about my mother's death was exactly the same, and I remember how dead I felt writing it, so cold and dry because I felt like I had to write something, but if I hurt at all, if I expressed any emotion I would fall apart, and I couldn't afford that.

The bad parts were all exactly as bad. It was just that the rest of it was a little better. I didn't have to deal with Riley leaving; Angel never made me feel like I was too strong, or too good or that I didn't need him enough. I let myself cry with Angel. I let myself be taken care of, once in a while. I took comfort from him, and I'm not sure why that was possible when it never was with Riley, but there it is.

Reading the last diary, I started thinking of us as the same person again. I started thinking of the things Angel and I had done, instead of what she and Angel had. I started thinking that we were one and the same. Only I was sitting on the grave, breathing, reading, and she was laying beneath it, dead and gone.

The decision came by itself, just like it had before, leaving reason to fill in the gaps behind. It was almost dawn, and soon people would be up and about, and it would look very strange for a young woman to be sitting on her own grave. I blew out the candles, left some flowers I had picked, packed away the diaries, and walked away.

*

I've never been very good at writing. I mean, expressing myself in words has never been a strong point, or grammer for that matter, so I try and avoid telling people stuff through writing. My only exception is my diary, since it's only for me. Half the stuff in there probably wouldn't even make sense to other people, but every word conjures up memories and feelings for me, which is why I keep writing them.

I really didn't have a lot of other options though, at that point, so I took a nap on a bench, bought some pretty stationary at the paper store on Main and took myself off to a secluded area in Weatherly where no one who recognized me would happen by. And then I wrote.

The letters, I think, were all jumbled, just kind of streams of consciousness where I thought of another thing I needed to say, and then another, but they did get my point across. Things I'd been meaning to say forever but never had the time to, or the need.

To Willow: I still remember the first time I sat down next to you, like it was yesterday. You wanted to know if I was hanging out with Cordelia, and said you didn't think it was legal for me to hang with you too. I didn't realize it for a long time, but when you said that I made a choice and I have never, ever regretted it. I can't tell you how glad I am I chose you, or you chose me or whatever. In a lot of ways, I've never been closer to anyone than I am to you Wills. When I came up to you I was hoping for something new, someone that wasn't obsessed with clothes and being mean to those that weren't as cool as them. And I found that, but I found so much more too. I'd never known, before that, what it was like to have someone love you, no matter what, and to love them back, without qualification. I'd never had someone I could tell everything to, absolutely everything. You changed my life, and the way I look at people. I don't know if I would have made it through the last five years without you.

To Xander: When I first met you I thought you were a goof, and that's what you wanted me to think. That's what you wanted everyone to think. But you know what Xander? The wool is gone from my eyes. You're the oldest of all of us. Besides the job and the serious LTR (Anya! Who woulda thunk it?) you know more about yourself than I've ever known about me. And you're more willing to give yourself away. Since I met you you've been completely supportive, loyal and trustworthy. I love you more than any other guy I know. And you know what else? You've saved my life more times than any of the rest of 'em. Without you I would have died a long time ago, so every minute I'm here I know that I owe it to you, and if when you're reading this, I'm not around anymore, don't you dare feel guilty, because you gave me four years. No one else has ever given me a gift like that.

To Giles: I asked you once when I'd ever let you down and you asked if I wanted you to answer or if you should just glare. It was a good line. I know, even though it was a joke, that at times it must have felt true too, because I did let you down, more than I should have. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry about Ms. Calendar. I'm sorry about…a lot of things. I'm *not* sorry that you were my Watcher. It's probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Because you let me grow up. You gave me the freedom that made it possible to let you down, and I'm sorry if I abused that privelege. I hope the long-term outcome was worth it. I told you this before, but I want to tell you again to make sure you know: I love you. And whatever has happened to me, whatever is necessitating you reading this letter, it's not your fault. You did the best you could. I was just a little hard to work with.

To Dawn: I don't know now what's going to happen, but I know that if you're reading this it probably means something happened to me. It probably means I'm dead. But it also means that you're alive, and that's the important thing. Dawn, I love you so much. If anything happened to you, I would never be able to live with myself, so I know that nothing is going to happen. This letter is my insurance policy. I guess I think if I write this you'll have to have a chance to read it. Dawn, if you feel guilty, if you think I'm dead because of you…don't. I'm not. I was supposed to die four years ago, and for a long time I've wondered why I didn't. Now I know. It's because you were coming, and I was meant to protect you and love you. Hopefully, I've done that. If you're alive and well, that means my job is done, and I'm sure that wherever I am, I'm doing just fine. So don't you dare feel guilty, or ever, *ever* think you're not real, because you are. You're my sister, and I love you. Don't ever forget that. And live.

It took me a long time to think of what to write to Angel. No matter how many times he told me he wanted me to be happy, to be somewhere I was happy, it had to be incredibly painful. He gave up his life for mine, and then to give up my life too…? I didn't know if I could have done it, if I was in his place. Could I give up the sunlight, food, love, joy…for someone else's happiness? Even his?

It is hard to express what I feel for Angel. How the sight of him makes my stomach warm up. How the sound of his voice makes my mouth dry. How his presence fills up my mind and my heart, barely leaving any room for me. How I feel like a whole person when I'm with him; not the Slayer, not a normal college student, just *Buffy*. How I'm drawn to touch him. How I can tell when he's in the same building as me, because suddenly I realize I'm not whole, I can sense the other half of my being just a little ways away. How his smile makes my heart flip-flop, and his injury makes my breath stop.

There are very few things I wouldn't give up for his life: the world, Dawn's life, or my mother's (while she lived), Giles' or Willow's or Xander's. But mine? Would I give my life for his? The answer was probably yes. If I was the only one at stake, then…yes. I would have done it before graduation. I didn't think I was going to die that night, I didn't think he would kill me. But he could have. I was prepared for that.

I could give my life for his. And then tell him to leave, to go somewhere else and be happy? I suppose I did, in a way. He left me the night after I offered him my life. Only he was leaving for me, and not for his own happiness.

I thought a long time about what I wanted to say to Angel, and finally I just wrote I love you. Forever.

*

Giles had warned me that once a portal was opened in one place, it needed time to, like, recharge. Since I wasn't up to staying around for a few weeks, I performed the spell in a different place: at the spot I'd died, only months before. The tower was gone, the place empty, unrecognizable. I stamped the letters at sunset and put them in a mailbox on the way to the Magic Box, where I bought the supplies I needed. The woman asked me how Giles was, and what kind of spell I was doing, and I lied with a smile.

I started the spell at midnight, when the streets were quiet. Willow had altered it slightly so it only took one person, just in case I ended up in the wrong place (or, as it turned out, in the right place, alone). The words were unfamiliar, but I sounded them out and waved the incense and all that, and then sat down and envisioned the world I was going to, the world I'd just left.

I began, as before, with my room. The way Angel looked, sprawled across my bed, or standing by my window with the sun on his face, smiling slightly. The pictures of us, each of them a memory. The memories I took in too: those I had and those I'd only read, but all of him, of us . . . The house, with subtle reminders of his presence everywhere, his books, his favorite foods, his sketches lying in odd places. The rest of the house too, of course, and Dawn, the same in both realities. The street we lived on. The rest of the city. The Magic Box, the university. LA, where Cordelia and Wesley fought evil with their friends (who woulda thunk it?). The world.

I held all of this in my mind as firmly as I could, said the final words and opened my eyes. My breath whooshed out before I knew I'd been holding it. A few feet in front of me, the night was shifting, a little strange, and I knew I'd done it. I'd suceeded. I was filled, suddenly, with an overwhelming urgency, choking the breath out of me. I felt that if I waited another moment I would lose all, both the world I was in and the other, I would never be happy, never see Angel again . . . And yet, if I left, I knew I couldn't come back. This was my last chance, my only chance.

"Goodbye," I whispered to the world, my reality, my home, the place that had given me hurt after hurt, but offered no solace at the end. It was also, against all odds, the place that had given me my life when another world would have taken it. "Goodbye."

Part Twelve

The feeling of urgency didn't leave after I was through. I tried to walk home. Instead, I ran. Only this time when I got there, there was no For Sale sign to miss, and there was a light on in the kitchen. I could breathe again. In fact, any sense of urgency disappeared altogether, leaving me weak as a kitten, barely able to make it through the door. I tried the knob, but it was locked and I fumbled with my key and finally dropped it to the porch, nervous suddenly. What if he didn't want me back? What if he found out I was the wrong one and was disappointed? I could see the look in his eyes already, and just the thought of it killed me. What if he didn't, couldn't, love me the way he loved her?

The lock on the door clicked and the door opened as I was bending to pick up my key. I looked up, frozen. He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light, and I couldn't see the expression on his face. I left the key where it was, and straightened, drawn into his arms before I was even standing up.

I realized I was crying, and so was he.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, his lips moving blindly, desperately, as if rememorizing my face.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, wanting to pretend that everything was all right but unable to lie. "It's only me, I'm sorry. I came back, I couldn't — I had to come back, but I'm not from here, I'm the other one, I'm so sorry, so sorry . . ."

His lips found mine and quieted my sobs; I found that there was nothing I wanted more than to kiss him back, that the kiss consumed my senses and took over my entire body. I found that either he hadn't heard me or he didn't care. I found that I cared very much which one it was, and that I didn't want him to pull away far enough to tell me.

He did finally, but only a few inches. One of his hands moved up to cup my face, the other settling against my hip. I turned my face to kiss his palm, unable to help myself; it was warm, alive, real. "You came back," he said wonderingly.

"I came back," I agreed, searching his face desperately for a sign, any sign of dissapointment, or anger. "I'm sorry Angel, she . . . she didn't make it. Everyone there thought I was dead, and . . . and you said I could come back . . ." My voice faltered at the grief and horror on his face.

"Did you think I wouldn't want to?" he whispered.

"Buffy, I love you. You. If anyone should be sorry, it's me. It's my fault she died, it has to be. I'm the difference. I shouldn't . . . I don't deserve you, but good God, I can't . . ."

"No, no, don't say that, it wasn't your fault," I told him quickly, putting a hand over his mouth. "I talked to you, to the other Angel. Everything here happened there too, he turned human too, only the Powers let him take it back. They didn't give you the same option. It's not your fault, it's just . . . fate. And something brought me here, when I jumped through the portal, something brought me to this world. I've never had the chance to be happy, and I don't know if you can live with me, knowing that I'll never be her, I'll never remember any of the things we've done together, but I had to try, I didn't want to live without you, Angel."

"I didn't think I could," he admitted and I drew his mouth down again, to mine, because I wanted to touch him, whatever part of him I could, to make it real.

Angel's hand on my hip slipped upwards, beneath my shirt, tracing the curve of my lower back. One of my arms hooked around his neck, my hand sliding beneath his undone collar, gripping the heated silk of his neck. All thought flew from my mind, replaced by the need to touch more of his skin, to feel his heartbeat, kiss his veins, running with warm, live blood. His hand on my back urged my closer and was joined by another, lifting me against him as we pressed against the doorframe, hungry after months of fasting, denying ourselves one another.

There was a large thump and we pulled apart, glancing wildly around before I realized I'd dropped my bag. I began giggling and Angel laughed, wildly, gathering my bag and me and ushering us inside. We turned off the lights, and tiptoed up the stairs. It was after three in the morning (Angel admitted he had barely slept since I left, and I admitted to the same thing) so we left Dawn asleep, creeping into my room, whispering and touching where we could, half lust-mad adolescents and half bone-tired, weary adults.

Alone in my room, in the dark, we stopped laughing and undressed each other slowly, silently, with great care. We did not apologize anymore, or talk about the other dimension. I tried, at the beginning, to tell him how sorry I was that I was nervous, uncertain, when he had done this a thousand times.

"No more talk about the past," he told me gently. "Starting right now, all that matters is the future. The one we're making together."

So we began, sweet and slow at first, with growing need, ever-consuming hunger for each other, and for that future. Afterwards, we gave in to fatigue and slept, skin to skin and though all my dreams were good, none of them were as sweet as my waking.

*

The sun woke me, creeping into my eyes and turning my eyelids scarlet until I blinked myself awake. Angel was still sleeping, his lips against my hair and one of his arms curled around me. I studied the way the light touched him, the way he breathed, the way his lashes lay on his cheek, peaceful, still. Unable to help myself I kissed my way down his face, making him smile in his sleep. An odd feeling had settled into my stomach, reaching from their to fill my entire body — I thought perhaps it was joy. I felt rather like I was floating.

Only there was more to the world than this room, more to my life-that-wasn't-mine than Angel.

The thought didn't banish the warm glow of contentment, but it did lessen it slightly, and I found the will to move, untangling our limbs gently and slipping out of the bed. I found my robe hanging in the closet and wrapped it around myself, tying it in the middle and tiptoeing out the room.

I hadn't looked at the clock, but by the brightness of the sun it had to be late morning. I could hear cartoons from the living room so I started down the stairs, my heart moving towards my throat as I went.

"About time you got up," Dawn called as my feet found the bottom floor. I walked into the living room, and found her facing the other way with a bowl of Fruit Loops and the TV controller. "I thought you weren't—"

"Dawn," I said, and heard the bowl drop. Damn, I thought, I'm going to have to clean that up. And then Dawn was plowing into me, throwing her arms around my neck in an unprecedented display of sisterly affection. A startled, happy laugh burst out of me, though I'd basically expected this kind of welcome. After all, she probably thought I was the other me . . . she didn't know . .

I hugged her back anyway, clinging to her as if I was the one that had almost lost her, instead of the the other way around.

"When did you come back?" she demanded, "why didn't you wake me up?"

"In the middle of the night, I was so tired, I could barely stand up, I'm sorry . . . oh Dawn, I have to—"

"Oh god Buffy, I was so freaked out! I thought you weren't coming!"

"Dawn, I'm not—"

"Did she find you? I mean, you, did you—"

"Dawn!" I pulled away just forcefully enough to quiet her. She watched me with suddenly concerned, confused eyes. I took a deep breath. "I didn't find the other Buffy. Your Buffy. I'm . . . I'm the one from this summer, from the other dimension."

She looked like she was shrinking suddenly, out of my grasp. Oh God. She didn't want me. "Does that mean you're leaving again?" she whispered and the air whooshed out of me.

"No! No, no, I'm staying, I'm here to stay. She — I did find her, just not . . . she died, I'm sorry . . ."

"But you came back."

"For good," I promised. "I'm really sorry I'm not he—" Before I could finish my sentence I was nearly knocked over again by Dawn's exuberance. When she let me go again and stepped back, trying to regain her cool, I asked carefully, "So you don't mind?"

"Of course not! You're still *you*. I mean, hello, I didn't even know you were different, after like three months." Her face fell a little. "I'm sorry though. I mean, you died . . . one of you did, and it's my fault really . . ."

"Shh!" I hushed her immediately. "Don't say that! It's not your fault. I'm glad I'm alive, but I jumped into that portal fully prepared to give my life, and I'm sure she did too. I wouldn't want to live without you Dawn, and I know that any me, in any world, would feel the same. Anyway, I'm here now, and I'm never leaving again, I promise."

"Not even for a weekend or something?" Dawn asked, suddenly mischievious. I eyed her suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Well, you know, I think I'm old enough to be on my own for a while . . . I'm responsible . . . almost adult really . . ."

"Nice try kid," I told her and tugged on one of her braids. She made a face at me. "Clean up your cereal."

*

Angel offered to go with me to the Magic Box, but I told him it was something I needed to do myself. I needed Giles' honest reaction, without any urging from Angel to accept me. The gang was supposed to have a meeting that afternoon to plan patrols, just in case I didn't come back, so I went about a half hour before the meeting was supposed to start.

Giles was at the cash register when I walked in and he looked up at the chime of the door. My hands were clasped in an attempt not to fidget, and I squeezed them together and looked at him, hopefully.

"B-Buffy!" he stammered and scrambled out from behind the counter, hurrying over to me. I smiled involuntarily and unclenched my hands to return his hug, a little knot of worry inside me relaxing. Part of me had expected to find him as he had been in the other world — not believing I was real, throwing harsh words and sharp objects my way. He pulled away a few feet and eyed me, as if trying to figure out which one I was. He was the only one that had expected I might not be their Buffy.

"I'm the one that left," I told him, letting the smile drop. "The other one — yours — died. I'm sorry Giles."

His smile faded. "Did you just come to bring the news?"

"No, I came to . . . to stay. I thought they'd need me there, but they didn't really. They'd already grieved. I didn't want both dimensions to go through that when there was still one me left. So . . . if you can deal with me, I'm here."

"Deal with you?" Giles murmured, his eyes lighting again. "Buffy, I never . . . I can't say I ever really saw a difference. Your relationship with Angel of course, but . . . but you're really the same person."

"Thank you," I whispered, because I knew he loved the person he saw me as. I hugged him again and then he began questioning me about what had happened. I told him parts of it, and left other things out. I explained the differences in the two dimensions, and then Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya came in the door.

It took me ten minutes to tell them that I wasn't the one they were expecting, because Willow started crying and Xander kept whooping, picking me up and spinning me around the room. I finally made them understand, after which they made *me* understand that they didn't care a bit.

I didn't quite believe it was all real. For the first time in months — almost a year — there was nothing wrong. Sure, the normal vamp problems still existed, but nothing I couldn't handle. Dawn was still not normal, and never would be, but for the moment she was a high school sophomore, my little sister, and nothing more. I still missed my mother, every day, in a thousand ways, but I could get through each day without her. I was not in the world I'd been born in, but it didn't seem to matter so much anymore. Perhaps I was in the world I was meant to be in. Perhaps I was just in the world where I could be happy.

Willow and Xander refused to let me out of their sight, and arriving a little later, so did Dawn and Angel. Accordingly, we all made dinner together, and then played Trivial Pursuit well into the night. I got to be on Angel's team, which was great because he knew everything and I knew nothing. Also, we got to cuddle. After we won (barely beating Giles and Dawn), we kicked everyone out and sent Dawn to bed. "Nymphos," she muttered, then yawned as she stomped up the stairs.

We didn't, as it happened, go to bed. We went outside instead, to sit on the back porch and watch the stars.

"It seems like I should be doing something," I admitted, "fighting someone, or figuring out some problem. I've forgotten how to just . . . live."

"Me too, in a way. We've been in Danger mode. But there's no more danger."

"But is everything normal again?" I asked, not quite meaning to say it out loud. He slipped an arm around my shoulder and I absently leaned against him.

"Buffy, everything doesn't have to be 'normal,' " Angel replied gently. "It should be as good as we can make it."

"We?"

"We."

My head was tucked under his, our arms curled together. He was warm, large, comforting, solid. My eyes drifted upwards, to the stars.

"They're the same," I murmured wonderingly.

"Hmm?"

"The stars, they're exactly the same. I never really thought about it before."

His arms tightened around me. "I feel like I lost you."

I pulled away just enough to turn my head and look at him. "I'm right here."

There were parts of our past we would never share; but there were also parts we both had etched on our hearts. Moments of love, of perfection, that we both held dear. Enough of a past, I hoped, to be foundation to a future. No, not hoped. As he kept going, playing out the words of that night so long ago, I knew. It would be enough.

His eyes were infinitely calmer this time, wiser, deeper, but no less passionate. "I love you. I promise I will never stop."

"Me too. I'll never stop either."

"See?" he whispered, "you're still my girl. I've loved you the same in every world." But only in this world was I allowed to love you back . . . I thought silently. "We'll make it work, Buffy. There's no reason to be worried now. Bad things happen, they always have they always will. But we're okay right now."

"This coming from Cryptic Guy? You're supposed to be warning me, not making me put my guard down," I teased, smiling despite myself.

"Hey, give me a break. I'm cold. If you'll recall, I gave away my coat."

"Oh, now we're complaining. Come on, Human Guy. Let's go warm your frail self up," I laughed, pushing myself to my feet and pulling him after me. He didn't lodge a protest.

Send feedback to Felicity

Back to the Fanfiction Archive