Email: mail@cbaird82.freeserve.co.uk
Summary: Well, read the title, you know this isn't going to be a happy fic. Just a warning, deals with character death but gets a bit happier towards the end! lol...
Spoilers: Everything through Seasons 1, 2 and 3. Perhaps a little speculation for Season 4.
Disclaimer: They belong to Joss/Greenie and the gang. Not me, unfortunately. The poem was something my friend had written on her signature, alas, I don't know who wrote it, but it wasn't me...
Distribution: Anywhere, just tell me where it's going.
Feedback: Duh... PLEASE! I will beg *and* offer cookies...
Dedication:To anyone who gives feedback, you are what keeps me writing even in times when I don't want to.
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He doesn't speak, nor does he move. For the longest time he's just sat there, listening to the rain pattering against the windows. To look up would be to break from the dream he's in and he knows that some time, he'll have to but for now, he's content. He remembers a night much like this, years ago. When the rain pelted against the windows of the Hyperion, when the lights had all but gone out and only the flicker of candlelight lit their way. He remembers as if it were yesterday, like a dream he can reach out and touch. A dream that fades into nothingness with the slight of his hand.
He shudders and sighs, shaking his head, slowly - bitterly, like the old man he is. Old in every way but one - his body remains young, for the world to see. While the people he love grow around him, he must remain - young, handsome and strong. Forever is a long word, one this man hates. Once upon a time, forever meant a great many things to this man. Forever meant a life, a future, something he could share with a woman he loved. Forever meant holding someone inside and never letting their light die, no matter how bad the pain of losing them wore you down.
Now, forever feels like something different. Now, forever feels like pain, for that's what he feels. He promised to keep her light with him and never let it die and now, he feels like in doing what he does, he's betraying what he promised. He hears the world go on around him and to his credit, he joins but... Not a minute goes by when he doesn't think of her. When the minutes don't seem like hours and the hours don't last days and the days... Well, it's never ending, as one can imagine.
As she stands over him, however. For her, only days have passed. Time drags for her too, only in a different sense to him. His days, though they seem longer, are actually shorter. He has forever. For her, every beat of her heart is one that counts. Every pulse, every blink, every yawn is something that he knows that should be cherished. He knows and yet he can't bring himself to speak the words.
"It's time." Her accent is thick, heavy - not with years of living in Texas, Pylea or LA - but with tears. Both the shed and the unshed kind and she stares at him. He can sense her fear, though she hides it well, can sense the underlying terror of Angelus and he wonders, was it really only days ago that she left? That he almost lost control? He remembers the emergency room and he remembers demanding that the doctor's do something and then he remembers taking her body, taking it right to the Powers and demanding that they return her to him... And he remembers their words...
"As one door closes, another door shall open. Leave us, unclean thing."
He remembers screaming. Remembers falling to his knees with a howl of pain, one that scratched at his throat... And he remembers drinking, not from her, but from another unsuspecting victim and he hates himself for it. Then, should have been the time when he proved himself. It should have been when he held it together, not fallen apart. But grief affects us in different ways and he knows that. He knows that all too well. He stands and brushes down his suit.
"I'm ready." He nods, but he isn't. How can he ever be prepared to face this day? To face this day without her? How can he ever be prepared to stand there among people she considered her friends and thank them for coming - as you're supposed to do on a day like this? How can he be thankful that the sun isn't shining, when all he wants to feel is the beautiful warmth she radiated on his face? He moves, almost painstakingly slow - and Fred watches, closely. He seems older, even though that isn't possible. He seems more frail - he seems to be dying without his light, without that thing that held him together.
"It's like something out of Fitzgerald. The man who can have everything but love. Well, maybe in some ways you're better off, because love is... Well, in a way it's everything. But it's also heartache and dissapointment. And those are good things to avoid.
When he gets there, he expects the place to be crammed wall to wall with acquaintances, people she knew and loved, people she acted or didn't act with. People who pretended to be in the popular zone. And it shows him, just how much she changed. Just how much she'd grown. There are... Perhaps 30 people. Her parents. Close friends from Sunnydale... Buffy, Xander and the others. Acquaintances from LA - and Angel makes his way to the front, avoiding heavy gaze. He feels their eyes upon them - feels Buffy's, knowing she expects him to break down, or just to look at her - give her a look to let her know that he's okay. Angel gives her neither. He keeps his head held high, clutching only to the necklace he bought for her birthday. In his mind he holds a memory, of a night shared - that night of the storm that he'd thought of earlier. When he and Cordelia had talked and talked... Until eventually, Angel recited something from memory... Until eventually, Cordelia was asleep in his arms and he knew then that he loved her.
He curses himself for wasted time - time when he should have let her known how he felt. But Angel's blessed. He's been blessed with two wonderful years, loving and cherishing every heartbeat, every spoken word of his Seer and he knows that others haven't been so lucky to know what he has. To know her, all of her - all of the bitchiness as she would put it and all of the beauty. The beauty without and the beauty within. He hears a cry and glances at her mother, huddled in her fathers arms and Angel can offer no comfort for he tried. He truly tried to bring her back. He glances once at the Scoobies, tight-lipped and banded together, strengthening the chain that binds them with each passing moment. And he turns, glances at the man who had stolen his son, betrays him. Under any other circumstances, Angel might have killed him for being near - but for whatever Wesley did or did not do, he deserves this. He deserves the chance to say goodbye like they all do.
All too suddenly, it's his turn to speak and Angel's not sure if he can, without her there to hear. Without her there to smile and say it's beautiful. A gush of warm wind blows against his heart and Angel's strengthened, even just briefly, as he steps up to the podium... Aside the vicar. Today, he can stand crosses. He can stand anything holy, as long as he's there one final time to say goodbye and softly, he speaks - his voice carrying over the auditorium as a hushed silence fills and a couple of tears slide down perfectly-made-up cheeks.
"I love you not knowing how nor from where,
I love you without complexities or pride,
I love you because I know no other way than this.
So close, that my hand on my chest is your hand,
So close, that when you close your eyes, I fall asleep.
He looks around the auditorium and he smiles - there, in a variety of colours, are her wishes. Him, in a dark blue suit. The rest of the auditorium in a variety of colours - celebrating her life, not mourning her death, not really.
"Well, as vampires go, you're pretty cuddly. Maybe you might want to think about mixing up the black on black look."
Angel smiles and steps down from the podium. Even in death, her sunlight hasn't faded. Not even with rain, or mourning... He misses her. He'll always miss her. But because of her, he'll go on.
"No! If you were a loser, if you were a sick obsessed vampire, then you'd go to a snod demon or whatever and get your heart cut out. But, you're not. You're a living, breathi-" She pauses... "Well, living, anyway... Good guy who's still fighting and trying to help people and that's not betraying her. That's honoring her."
"You think?" Asked Angel, wanting to believe what she said.
"I'm Cordelia. I don't think. I know. Okay?"
End.