FEEDBACK: Definitely!
SPOILERS: Seasons one through four
DISTRIBUTION: I'd feel honored! But please ask first!
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the BtVS characters. They belong to Joss Whedon and all the other people I really don't feel like naming right now:)
RATING: PG

The teacher stood facing the crowd of high school students that sat in neat rows filling the small classroom. It was located in the basement with no windows or extremely bright lights. In fact, the few lights that did line the ceiling were dull and barely shone, instead creating slightly eerie shadows that danced along the walls whenever an incandescent bulb flickered and then slowly died out.

But despite the uncomfortable environment, the students loved this class. It was funfilled and care-free, yet healty and deep, a place where you could express your internal emotions and come out and say whatever you were feeling without having anyone laugh at you.

People looked forward to this class, and the forty-five minutes were over all too soon, and the next batch of eager students filed in and took their seats.

But the best part was their teacher. She really understood you on a level that no grown-up could. She was willing to have lunch with you on a Saturday afternoon while you talked about your problems, was willing to help you through them and give you whatever advice you might need.

But even though their teacher was great, there was something off. Whenever you read a poem that was meaningful and heart-wrenching, you could see this look in her eyes. Whenever someone asked for advice on boy troubles, a hollowness flickered in her eyes and her face became slightly twisted before she put up her mask of happiness once more, shielding herself from their perceptive gazes.

And somehow, Laura Stevenson connected with her teacher. Ms. Buffy Summers. She insisted that everyone call her by her first name, saying that Ms. Summers made her sound old and superficial.

And unknowingly, Buffy Summers felt that connection too. Laura Stevenson had gone through a lot in her life, including abuse from her parents causing her to be put into a foster home at age six and then at age eight taken to live with another set of parents. A couple of bad break-ups were thrown into the mix also.

Buffy and Laura, although not really friends, connected with each other. They went out to lunch at least once a month on Saturdays, Laura telling of her problems and Buffy doing her best to give advice on them.

And from the front of the classroom, Buffy Summers sighed. It was inaudible, and the misery in her eyes was only apparent to those who seeked long enough for something that remained in those hazel pools but was imperceptible at a single glance.

As she looked around her classroom filled with students, anxiously calling out answers and giving their deep insight on a subject, Buffy felt compelled to listen to everything that was said, even though it caused her more agony than she could imagine.

She didn't even know how she had gotten this job at the recently rebuilt Sunnydale High. She supposed that the new, light-hearted principal liked her teaching style in old literature. She certainly had enough knowledge of it.

As everyone quieted down, Buffy explained their newest assignment - to write a poem. A simple poem about whatever your mind wanted to say. It would never be read - not by anyone except her.

As the group began to scribble out their thoughts and emotions onto single sheets of looseleaf notebook paper, Buffy slowly lowered herself onto her swivel chair and looked around her. Seeing the students hard at work, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small, leather-bound book, the pages yellow and the edges folding over and cracking.

The binding was falling apart, a sign that the book had been opened one too many times. Setting the book onto her desk, she lightly traced the cover with her fingertips, feeling the soft material glide against her skin in a mocking caress.

Carefully flipping to the first page, she wasn't at all surprised when she felt the familiar tears springing to her eyes as she gazed at his flowing cursive.

The words were long since memorized, implanted on her brain, but she read on time after time.

My love,
My heart is shattered, broken into a million pieces that we cannot be together like we want to. I yearn for you every moment, I ache for your touch every second of the day. I wish we could be together, but the fates will not let it be so. I am glad that I have you now, as my eternal friend, and I hope we will remain so.
Your beloved,
Angel

The poem book she had received on her eighteenth birthday lay in her hands now, and she continued turning page after page, rereading the poems that Angel had written about their everlasting yet unconquering love. The words suited them perfectly, and she knew that he had spent all of his time writing these beautiful words, all for her. She supposed that was one of the reasons that she had gotten into poems, reading them and digging into them, hoping to find the hidden meanings behind each and every one.

She was vaguely aware when the bell rang, signaling the end of yet another long day. It was the last period, thankfully, and the students were catcalling and whooping, leaving their work on her desk and not paying much mind to her.

She was surprised when someone cleared their throat, and she lifted her tearful eyes to meet the ones of Laura Stevenson's.

The young girl immediately noticed the pain in Buffy's eyes, but as soon as the twenty-three year old blinked, all remnants of what she had just witnessed were gone.

Laura appeared confused for a moment, then shook it off and smiled brightly at her teacher. "Hey, Buffy, wanna go out to eat on Saturday?"

Buffy gave a sort of presentable half-smile to her student, pleased with her eagerness. "Sure, I'd love to. Same place and time?"

"Yep. Marti's Court, 12:00 sharp. See ya then!" She called, already out the door.

Buffy's smile lingered for only a few more moments before her eyes again went tearful, her smile fading into nothingness. Turning back towards the book that lay in front of her, she slowly closed it and tucked it back into her drawer.

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

"I wish it could be different. I wish that we could be together like we want to, that this wouldn't have to be so hard. But the Scourge is coming. It already took Cordelia and Oz, we can't let it take anymore. What we have to do-"

"Just stop."

Angel looked confused for a moment. "What?"

"Stop." She lifted her cold, unfeeling eyes up to his own. Her resolve almost broke, her dam almost burst. But she did not let it. "I can't pretend that you care about me. I can't keep telling myself this lie and making myself believe that you'll come back to me. And I can't force myself to think that this is what you really want."

He looked stunned for a moment, obviously taken aback by her harsh flow of words. "Buffy, I-"

"Save it." She interrupted. "It may seem like we can fight the Scourge, pull through it together, win the big fight, and then you can just give me one final goodbye before taking off again. I won't do it."

"Buffy..."

"When.. if we win this, and we survive to tell the tale.. just leave, okay? Don't say goodbye."

"You can't ask me to do that."

"But you did it before." Her eyes were accusing him, accusing him when all he had really wanted to do was scoop her in his arms and never let her go. She had no idea how difficult it had been for him to leave after seeing her painful, teary eyes looking up at him, pleading for him to stay. He was tempted. God, was he tempted. But he refused to give in. And if he had said goodbye, he never would have been able to leave.

But he was stronger now. He had become stronger ever since the oracles had turned back time and he had talked to Buffy in his office for only five minutes after their day together.

She hadn't remembered. Somehow, he had thought that she would. That she was stronger than the oracles, that her mind would never forget of one of the most beautiful times of both their lives.

But she had.

"You left me." She continued. "And if you leave me again, I don't want you to say goodbye. Because the longer you're here, the more I find myself falling in love with you again. And I won't have that. I won't say goodbye and feel my heart breaking again."

"Buffy, you know how much I love you." The words came back to haunt the both of them, the day they broke up just before the prom.

Her next words both surprised him and hurt him deeply, and his face crumbled into misery. "Yeah? Well, I don't love you."

Buffy awoke with a start, panting and breathing heavily. As her heartless words came back to her for the millionth time, a broken sob escaped from her throat.

How could she have said those things to him? How could she have been so cruel, so cold, so merciless? The Scourge had come and shattered her life, had killed those that she loved.

And the one person who really mattered, who she loved with all of her heart, she had been cold to. She had said that she didn't love him. His last memories were of her, harshly telling him to never say goodbye to her, to just leave her and forget.

The salty tears tracked down her soft cheeks, and she buried her head in her pillow, forcing her shaking to stop and her breathing to slow.

Glancing at her bedside clock, she saw that it was 11:00. She needed to meet Laura at Marti's Court in an hour. She slowly eased herself out of bed and stood on two shaky feet, unsteadily walking to the bathroom.

She shed her clothing and stepped into the shower, turning on the water and feeling the warm liquid splash against her face and trail down her body. Tilting her head to nozzle where the drizzle of fluid spurted out, she let the water rush against her face and cascade down her chin.

"I'm afraid that she didn't - couldn't - pull through."

The memories swamped over her and pulled her from reality, back to four years ago.

"Buffy, this is Mr. Rosenberg. Willow.. she.. um, she.." He hadn't been able to finish his sentence, but instead had broken down into a fit of tears. But she had known. She had put the receiver down, had kept a straight face. Had went to Giles, told him in a monotonous tone in no uncertain terms that Willow had died.

Xander and Anya had passed away together, holding eachother and whispering their words of love to eachother. Just as Anya had wanted it. And it *had* been romantic, in a way. Xander had made the torturous walk over to Anya's hospital bed, had laid down with her in it. They had died with their lips touching, their eyes closed, their arms wrapped around eachother.

Cordelia and Oz had been captured by the Scourge, used for a ritual. Their bodies were never found.

There were only two people who had pulled through the mess. Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers. And although the watcher had known that they would mostly likely need eachother to survive the emotional turmoil, Buffy had closed herself up. She had firmly constructed her walls around herself, not allowing herself to love anyone as she once did.

Buffy soon realized that the moisture dotting her face was not the water spraying from the nozzle, but was instead the tears that she had locked away deep inside of herself. She wiped her face and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her tiny body.

She pulled out a pair of jeans and a top, did her hair, and was out the door at 11:45.

*

As soon as she entered the food court, she spotted Laura sitting at a table, full attention on a book. Buffy smiled. Laura was constantly reading, always had a book in her hands.

She took her seat at the table, waiting for Laura to notice her. When she finally did, she yelped and the book dropped from her hands. "Buffy!" She exclaimed. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." Buffy apologetically said. "Whatcha reading?"

"Oh, it's a wonderful story!" Laura exclaimed. "It's about the Salem Witch trials. This guy married this girl, and then this girl is accused of being this witch and she's on the run because he's after her. He's debating with himself over if she really is a witch or not, and what if she wasn't a witch, etcetera."

"Wow, sounds great." Buffy replied.

"Yeah, it is." She bookmarked the book and set it aside. "You look tired." She observed. "When did you wake up?"

"Only about an hour ago. I had a restless sleep." She explained.

Laura nodded. "Well, my life is actually pretty good lately. So why don't we reverse roles?" She already had her plan laid out. She had seen the look of misery on her teacher's face yesterday, and she wasn't willing to let it go. Buffy didn't deserve to have everyone dump their problems on her when she obviously had enough of her own.

"What?" Buffy asked, uncertain.

"Well, I saw you in class yesterday and you seemed kinda sad. So what's the trouble?" When Buffy didn't answer, Laura rolled her eyes. "Come on! We always dump our troubles on you, why don't you do the same. I'll be you, you be me. Just call me Doctor Laura!" She grinned.

Buffy sighed. "Nothing's wrong. Really, I'm fine." Laura gave her a look, and Buffy turned her gaze from Laura's accusing eyes and to the table, beginning to idly trace a scratch on the table with the pad of her thumb. "You shouldn't mix yourself up in it."

"So then there is something else." Laura persisted.

Buffy frowned. "You really don't give up, do you?"

"Nope." Laura proudly said. "I'm pretty good at it."

"Well then how come you don't have a boyfriend?" Buffy teased.

The younger girl noticed the topic change, but decided not to question it, instead flowing with the rest of the conversation.

Glad that the general topic of discussion was shifting to safer regions, Buffy smiled and chattered on with her student.

*

For Buffy, Monday rolled around all too soon. The day had been long and tiring, and all she wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers, then lose herself in the land of unconsciousness.

But she still had one more class to go. Thankfully, it would be quiet. The lesson plan for the day was to read the rather long story in their literature books. She barely ever had them read anything from those books, mostly because they lacked emotion and feeling, but there was one particularly nice story that she liked and thought they would to.

As the students settled in and Buffy gave the assignment, they opened their books and began to read the story about the Revolutionary War and the sacrifices made in it.

Fifteen minutes later, a note hit Laura on top of her sleeping head, snapping her awake. She picked it up and carefully unfolded it, not wanting to make too much noise.

"Hey, wake up sleepyhead! Buffy's givin' you worried looks!" She looked up to the teacher, who was indeed staring at her with something akin to concern.

"Yikes. I'm awake." She tossed the note back to Marlie carelessly, knowing that Buffy didn't mind as long as you had your work done.

Marlie quickly wrote back. "Rough night?"

Just as she was finished responding, the bell rang. She quickly grabbed her books and charged out the door, the slip of paper accidently dropping from her hands and fluttering to the floor.

As the students filed out, Buffy cast Laura another concerned glance before her attention turned to the note on the floor. Although feeling as though she was violating the two girls' privacy, she unfolded it and read.

"Hey, wake up sleepyhead! Buffy's given' you worried looks!"

"Yikes. I'm awake."

"Rough night?"

"The worst. Dusted five vamps. That's gotta be a record."

Buffy froze as her eyes widened, practically popping out of her head. No. It couldn't be.

Laura was a slayer?

*

Buffy mulled over this for a long while. So Laura was a slayer. Now that she looked back on it, it sorta made sense. Now she knew why the girl had always seemed tired, why she had skipped out from her classes and sometimes appeared dazed and lost in her own little world.

She could just let it go. She could forget that she ever saw the note and attempt to move on with her life. But somehow, she knew that she couldn't do that. She couldn't just pretend that it never happened, because it did.

When Angel had died, she had come to a vast conclusion. Everything happens for a reason. She wasn't about to even attempt to figure out the reason for all of her friends - and in this case, her lover - dying on her and leaving her alone in the world, but she knew that it must have happened for a reason.

After they had left this cruel and heartless world, Buffy had refrained from slaying. She couldn't do it anymore, couldn't live the life that she had been forced to live all those years ago.

So she had quit. Had moved to Los Angeles right after their war, and had come back two years earlier and began teaching at her old high school.

So she figured that she must have seen that note for a reason, if not to help Laura out then simply to talk to her watcher and offer help when help was needed.

Thoughts of her own watcher raced through her mind, and she fought to stop the memories from overwhelming her. He had been so kind, so gentle, the perfect father. And she didn't even know if he was still alive. After she had left Sunnydale, he had left for Europe shortly after, writing her a formal, well-thought out letter about how he had to visit his parents and find his place in the world again.

He hadn't written since.

She figured it was because he was so busy, or because he simply didn't know where she lived anymore, which he didn't. But that still didn't keep her from wondering. Wondering where he was, or how he was doing, or if he had found anyone else besides the now-deceased Olivia to love.

When she saw Laura after class, she nonchalantly asked for the young girl to stay after class. She had seemed concerned for a moment, but then shrugged it off as simply wanting to talk about something important.

And it was important, in the end.

As the final bell rang and the students streamed past her and into the hallways, Buffy closed the door behind them and turned to Laura.

"Laura, I need to know who your watcher is."

She widened her eyes, just as Buffy expected her to, and began stuttering a response. "Uh.. um, w-what do you mean?"

Buffy leaned against the door and folded her arms across her chest. "I mean that I need to see your watcher."

"Who are you?" Laura squeaked, visibly shaken that someone had known her identity, afraid that her watcher would be upset that someone had figured it out.

"It doesn't matter. Just take me to your watcher." She repeated.

Frightened, but yet relieved that this was a person she knew well enough to know that she didn't seem like the person who would turn homocidal on you, she edged her way towards Buffy and the door. "A-alright." She replied.

As they walked out of the school and to an unfamiliar apartment building, Buffy gazed at her surroundings in wonder. This part of Sunnydale hadn't been here before, but had been rebuilt after the Scourge had made its mark on the small town.

As Laura knocked on an apartment door and then simply walked right in, Buffy followed with only a small moment's hesitation.

The room smelled familar, like mint and tea bundled into one. The furniture was different, but the same none the less. And as a slightly graying, older figure suddenly stood in the threshold of the bedroom, his hair slightly tousled and his glasses hanging limply from his hand, Buffy stood, mouth agape.

She hadn't changed much. Her hair was shorter, a bit blonder, still had the best fashion sense in the world, wearing flaired jeans and a tiny baby tee.

"Giles.." She whispered, letting the word hang in the air, a seemingly blessed release from her unending pain.

"Buffy." He fondly responded, his whispered word echoing hers. They stood for a moment, before Buffy ran to him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist and resting her head on his strong chest. He wrapped one of his arms around her small frame, the other gently coming up to smooth down the golden strands of her hair from behind her head.

She let a small whimper escape from her throat and she pulled away, eyes glistening with unshed, suppressed tears. "How are you?" She asked.

"I-I think I should be asking you the same." He responded, offering her a tiny smile.

Her own smile grew wider, knowing that he was still the same Giles she had known, despite the time that had slipped by. Giving him another quick once-over, she confirmed that the years had been good to him, despite the fact that she knew he had gotten much, much older in one day. The day of the war.

Laura watched all this with deep interest, but knew when not to ask questions. She was about to head into one of the bedrooms which held one of her dearest friends, one of the kindest people she had ever met. But he beat her to it.

He was standing in the doorway, book in hand. But he was not looking at it. Instead, his eyes were fixated on the blond beauty that stood in the center of the room, staring in gratitude at her watcher.

But as soon as she felt his presence, her head turned to stare at his own.

The watcher, seeing his slayer's eyes set on something just behind him, moved to the side.

There, in full view, he stood, vulnerable to her penetrable gaze.

"Angel.." She whispered.

She had a sudden flash, a memory that she had long suppressed and pushed deep back into her mind.

Angel dropped to the ground, a poisoned arrow protruding from his chest, missing the heart by merely inches. She dropped beside him, the last of the enemies now dead or gone. He had saved her, saved her by sacrificing himself.

"Drink me!" She commanded him, her voice frantic and begging.

With much effort, he shook his head. "This is different. Your blood can't save me." Her tears had fallen onto his face, bathing him in the pain of her soul. He lifted his hand to gently wipe them away so that they glistened on his fingertips. "I love you, Buffy." He said before his hand went limp, his head falling to meet the surface of the ground.

"I love you, Angel." She whispered to the unliving room. "And I'm sorry."

It took her a moment to realize that she had fallen, that Angel had run to her as she collapsed. He caught her just in time, pulling her up against him and wrapping his arms tightly around her body.

She responded by bringing her hands to lock around his neck, hiding her face into his chest, the unwanted tears escaping and planting themselves on his shirt.

Their lips met in a flurry of passion and emotion, each wanting to dissolve the other's pain, if only for a moment. And as they broke apart, their broken sobs could be heard throughout the dreary apartment.

As they openly cried into eachother's arms, Laura watched this with an awed fascination. She had only heard about the tragic love stories of deep pain and anguish, but now she was witnessing it with her very own eyes instead of looking at it through someone else's. And she didn't like what she saw. Although it was sweet and romantic, it was also devastatingly sad, something that no one should have to live through. The tears of grief and pain should never have to cascade down anyone's face because of a love both lost and found.

Angel kept his grasp on her firm and tight, unwilling to ever let her go. He had wanted to search for her, but Giles had said that it would prove futile. If Buffy did not want to be found, as he knew she wouldn't, then she would not be found. That's simply the way she worked.

But having her here, in his arms, the place where she ultimately belonged and wanted to be, was a bit much for him to comprehend. He longed to hear her voice happy and cheerful, longed to see her face laced with happiness instead of a deep dread and misery that he had witnessed many times before and yet wished not to.

He pulled away from her, his arms still locked on her shoulder, gazing down into her face. He saw wet tracks from her tears marring her beautiful face, and a few stray drops still clung to her long lashes.

He gently wiped them all away, his gentle touch washing over her in a feeling of love and hope. She looked deep into his compassionate eyes, seeking for something yet not knowing exactly what it was.

"How did you find me?" He heard himself say.

Buffy smiled sadly, yet it was still a smile. "If I was blind I would see you."

He somehow knew what his next words would be, what she longed for them to be. They seemed familiar to him, like a dream from far away. "Stay with me?"

"Forever. That's the whole point. I'll never leave." She lifted a hand to cup the side of his face, lovingly wiping away his own tears with the pad of her thumb. Her next words were barely a whisper, but were heard clearly throughout the room. "Not even if you kill me."

The words haunted him, and he knew they were true. By leaving her, he had killed a part of her. He had brutally ripped her heart from her own chest, forcing her to watch as he left her while carrying both her heart and her soul, without even saying goodbye.

He didn't say goodbye. Not to his true love, the one who brightened his life that had been masked with anger and pain. The one being that caused his moment of true happiness, of complete contentment, he hadn't bothered to say goodbye to.

He drank in the sight of her, her saddened eyes and pained face. He slipped his hands around her waist and settled them on the small of her back, his intense and tearful eyes piercing into her own.

"How?" She whispered.

Although she didn't explain what she was referring to, he knew. "Giles found a spell. He resurrected me. It's complicated, but it worked. I'm here."

Her face crumpled and a sob escaped from her throat, and she was back in his arms again, clinging to him desperately as if he were her only lifeline in an ocean of sadness and grief. And in a way, he was.

After several moments, Angel scooped her up into his arms. She hid her face into his shoulder, her tears mingling with the satin material of his shirt.

He carried her down the hall and into his bedroom, gently setting her down on the bed and climbing in next to her. She buried her face into his chest, her arms coming up from under her and wrapping around him.

He returned the favor, and they clung to eachother, the tears slowly stopping, the weariness settling in. And Buffy soon found peace, falling asleep in her Angel's arms, where she so longed to be.

*****

Buffy awoke many hours later, the lack of sleep having finally caught up with her. She fluttered her eyes open, disorientation overtaking her, her eyes growing wide and confused as she gazed about the unfamiliar room.As the last remnants of sleep faded away, the memories flooded in and she remembered.

Angel was back.

Somehow, in the time period of four years, her watcher had resurrected him, brought him back from the dead.

Now she just had to pick up the pieces.

He had died thinking that she didn't love him. Although she knew that he must have somehow known that she was lying, that she did indeed still love him, she had spoken the four words that she had once sworn never to say to him. "I don't love you." And that had to have told him that she had moved on, if only the tiniest bit.

And for that she'd never forgive herself.

But she was confused. She wanted to let Angel in, to let him past her protective walls and to love him again, but who was to say that he wouldn't simply hurt her again? He had done it so many times in the past, she should be unsurprised and feel nothing if he broke her heart again, because it was already shattered.

Angel suddenly appeared in the doorway, having heard the rustling of the bedcovers as she had awoken from her exhausted slumber.

He was soon sitting down beside her, taking her small, delicate hands into his large ones. "How are you?" He softly asked.

Buffy stared deep into his face, watching as lines of concern for her formed in his forehead and at the corners of his mouth. "I'm confused." She honestly replied, her voice ever so soft.

He nodded, not knowing why he understood, just that he did. "I know." He whispered. "So am I."

"So.." She trailed off, and Angel briefly squeezed her hands, a silent yet powerful gesture of encouragement. "So where do we go from here?" Her eyes suddenly turned fearful, afraid that after finding eachother so many years later he would leave her again.

Angel shook his head, knowing her thoughts and practically burning with the desire to diminish them from her mind. "I won't be leaving you." His eyes met her own, and she tilted her head up and his lips descended upon hers, not demanding or full of unreleased passion and desire, just simple and sweet.

As they broke away, Buffy smiled. The first true, unartificial smile ever since the day Angel had died.

He returned it gratefully, thankful that she believed him. He knew that she had no reason to believe him, what with everything that he had done, all the pain that he had caused her. But her love and trusting of him was something that he had always admired and yet never fully accepted.

He accepted it now.

A wave of complete happiness and utter contentment washed over him.

And he did not lose his soul.

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