Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss owns them, he ignores them. Blame him!
Rating: PG. 15, mature themes and major angst
Summary: Buffy's POV during "Becoming Part Two"
Spoilers: Season two of BtVS

I'm good with this sword. Better than I thought I'd be. But it's still hard. To look at him, to remember that it's not Angel I'm trying to kill, but a monster with his face.

It doesn't really make it easier.

Cause Angel is still dead. Angel will be dead no matter what I do here. He died months ago, and it was my fault.

It was. My fault. I killed him, and here I am about to do it again.

He thrusts the sword towards me as we parry, the clink of metal on metal the only sound. He falls to his knees and I see my chance. Do it.do it quickly. Just do this and everything will be over. There will be nothing around to remind me of my lover, nothing to cause me pain.

Except the knowledge that I sacrificed him for the greater good.

I'm swinging with the sword when I see something go through him, his eyes shine brightly and he falls, panting. But I'm not lowering the sword. Is this a trick? Is he pretending? What's going on?

He looks up, and his eyes.oh god.his eyes, they are the eyes I remember, so filled with love, and at that moment confusion. He wipes a tear from his cheek and stands up, asking, "Buffy? Whats going on? Where are we? I don't remember."

I can only look at him. In complete disbelief. It can't be him. Not after all this time. "Angel?" I murmur and he touches my arm, saying,"You're hurt"

As he pulls me into my his arms, I feel his body, his cheek against mine and know the most happiness I have felt in months. "Oh Buffy.I feel like I haven't seen you in months.everything's so muddled". He drops a kiss onto my shoulder and I press my face against him, wanting to smile, wanting to shout. This is too perfect.this is the moment I have been waiting for.but then I look up.and see Acathla's mouth open. Grotesque, wide, hungry, hungry.Acathla wants to be fed. Oh God.I have to kill him.NO! No, how can this be? I can't do it.oh my god.

"Buffy? What's going on?" he asks me and I gaze at him tenderly, smoothing my hand over his cheek.

"Shhh.don't worry about it". I draw his head closer as our lips touch, salty sweet, one last kiss.so unfair. I can't let go, we keep kissing and kissing and I can almost hear Acathla's belly rumble. He wants my love. He wants to be fed. "I love you," I whisper and Angel stares into my eyes. He doesn't know what's about to happen. I don't want him to.

"I love you," he responds.

"Close your eyes," I choke out softly, and nod when he looks uncertain. His eyes close, his lashes fringing on his pale cheeks. My heart literally cracks.I can feel it. I don't want to be me right now. I want to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Anywhere but here. I need to be different than who I am. Because right now I am the girl that has to murder her love. The girl that has to kill Angel. I'm Buffy, and I wish I could be someone else.

I want to throw up. The pain spreads over my breasts and belly and I resist the urge to double over and gag with it. Like a burning brand it consumes my breath, my blood.it wants to eat me alive. This pain. Oh God.I kiss him softly.my lips barely touching his. This is so selfish, I want a memory of him that is sweet.this is without pain or swords or clashing metal. His face is calm, serene, so trusting.so without fear.

Forgive me, love, I think, and rear back, plunging the sword into his belly. His eyes fly open and he regards me with shock. No pain, just complete and utter surprise. My feet are taking steps back. What am I doing? Where am I going? My life is with him.he can't leave me.

He reaches out his hand and to me, whispering, "Buffy," desperately, hoping that I will save him. But I can't stop staring at the sword. I can't stop wishing I could take it and thrust it through my bleeding heart. Slice myself open and let the pain ooze out like blood. Maybe then I'd be free.And it's over. The end. Angel's gone.still with his arm outstretched. Thinking till the last moment that I will reach out, that our fingers would entwine and I pull him back. Acathla lies still, his belly full, full with Angel. I feel the cross he gave me burn against my skin, lying heavy over my heart.

Tears are coming. Sobs are building up in my throat. I can feel them. But I don't want to cry. I don't want to speak, or walk or think, or dance, or do anything. I want to lie down and die, because then I can be with him.

The truth is that I don't want to be anyone if I can't be with Angel.

Okay, I know it was angsty, but feedback's still welcome!

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