Title: Scattered Thoughts: Promise You Forever
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17 If you shouldn’t be here, be somewhere else.
Episode spoilers: Doppelgangland, Prom, G1 & 2, set between G2 and Buffy season 4/Angel season1
Archive: My site only! If you want to link to it, please contact me to let me know where.
Series/Sequel: Follows ‘Scattered Thoughts: The Road Has Come to an End’, but you *don’t* have to read that before this -- this one can stand alone.
Previous parts: www.angelfire.com/de/theparlor/buffy.html.
Disclaimer: Angel, Willow, et al, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB. All characters are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
Thanks: As always, to Carrie and to Marius especially for coming through at the 11th hour. You two are the best :-) Thanks so much for all the work you do!

//I wish I could be the one,
The one who could give you love,
The kind of love you really need.
I wish I could say to you,
That I’ll always stay with you,
But baby that’s not me.
You need someone willing to give
Their heart and soul to you,
Promise you forever,
Baby that’s something I can’t do.
Oh, I could say that I’d be all you need,
But that would be a lie,
I know I’d only hurt you,
I know I’d only make you cry.
I’m not the one you’re needing,
I love you, goodbye.//
-- Celine Dion


I don’t know why I came here. I hate this place. *Really* hate it. Every time I come here, I think back to when we were children. Jesse and Xander dared me to just step through the doorway, threatening to label me a chicken if I didn’t. They clucked at me every time I saw them for a month afterwards.

Funny how some things don’t change.

God, could I possibly be more of an idiot? Why did I come here? C’mon, you idiot, it’s just a house. A big, creepy, scary, something’s-lurking- inside-so-come-and-get-it-little-girl kind of house, but still just a house. Just *go* already!

But my legs don’t seem to want to work.

There’s no sign of life, or unlife either, I giggle to myself. No sign of Angel at all. He really did it. He really left without saying so much as a word.

My eyes tear up as a great sense of loss overwhelms me. I sniffle a little as I force myself to move towards the door. Somehow, knowing that he isn’t here makes it easier for me to go inside.

Looking around the room, I see little things that convince me Angel’s really gone. There’s no fire in the fireplace, no books spread open upside-down to mark the place where he stopped reading -- all things I’ve noticed the few times I’ve visited him at home. I’m such the detective girl. Just to be sure, I slowly amble -- amble? Gee, Xander hasn’t been making me watch too many Westerns again, has he? -- anyway, I head over to the room I’m pretty certain was Angel’s. I’ve been in here before -- back when I took my turn nursing him when he was poisoned.

It looks so different. While Angel never had a whole lot of stuff to begin with, it looks totally deserted now. There isn’t much left in here -- a stripped down mattress, a couple of old, scratched, dark wood nightstands, some melted down candles. It feels deserted, which is fitting, I guess.

Just the sight of it makes me want to cry.

In a way, it hits me as kinda fitting in one of those Alanis-song-lyric-y ironic ways. The little stuff left behind only offers the slightest hint of what Angel was like, kind of like his personality itself. God, Buffy used to *hate* that cryptic guy attitude of his. She used to bitch about it constantly and, even after three years, I don’t think she ever understood why he was like that.

I did.

It was so plain to me after a while. Why he acted that way, that is. He *had* to. It wasn’t just for Buffy’s sake, either. In fact, I’d venture to guess that it was really more for himself than for her. It was simpler for him to keep his distance. The easiest way to avoid all the little reminders that he isn’t really human.

Looking back on it, I still can’t believe we never noticed that he was a vampire right from the start. The signs were all there -- the pale skin, his knowledge of vamp activity, et cetera. But then again, we were all so blinded -- Xander by his jealousy, and Buffy and I by our hormones. Though my heart belonged to Xander back then, even I couldn’t help but notice Angel’s looks. God, Angel was *so* beautiful, like something out of GQ. And he was Buffy’s.

Once upon a time, Angel used to scare me. It wasn’t just because he was a vampire...although, that did make up a huge portion of it after I found out what he really was. No, at first it was just simply Angel himself. Not that he did it on purpose or anything. I mean, here was this older, mysterious, drop-dead...uh, no pun intended... guy, who, from time to time, would actually like try to talk to me -- a mousy little teenager that was such a social leper, even the other geeks at school were hesitant to speak to me in fear for their own reputations.

I still remember trying so hard to act mature around him, like I was this grown-up trapped in the body of a sixteen year old. Of course, it didn’t help that my conversational topics were always either about boys, computers, or vampires. Add to that the fact that I was so insecure that I would say the absolute dumbest things around him, too. I must have seemed so ridiculous to him.

Never once did Angel ever laugh at me for it.

So many memories hit me as I wander listlessly back out towards the living room -- private thoughts of Angel and me. I can’t help but smile as I think back to the times he treated me like an honest-to-goodness friend. Like when he came to ask me for help finding dirt on Ford, or the time he saved me from the gas leak in the school basement. Or the time I went to his old apartment to invite him to Buffy’s surprise party. I can still remember how he shyly asked for my opinion of the claddaugh ring he’d picked out for her gift. He was so nervous about giving it to her, and no matter how hard I gushed on about it being the perfect present, he was still uncertain about his choice.

Another, more painful memory hits me as I walk past the exact spot where Angel saved me from that nutso Watcher lady, Mrs. Post. To this day, I still don’t think Buffy understands why I sided with Xander and Giles at that little intervention we had in the library. I know that she thought I was ticked about Angel being back from the demon dimension; but in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. What I was angry about, and what still makes me angry to this day, is the fact that she never told us *Angel* was back.

See, I honestly don’t think Buffy ever realized how much it hurt the rest of us...okay, how much it hurt *me*...when Angel turned -- and not because of his reign of terror, either. I lost a friend the day he reverted, and each time I saw Angelus wearing Angel’s face, I was reminded of that loss. As much as I hated the soulless version of him, I never stopped missing the good, sweet vampire who always treated me with kindness.

But then he was back. No explanations; just tons of recriminations for both him and Buffy from the rest of us.

As usual on the Hellmouth, things changed rapidly after that. Slowly but surely, all of our mistrust of Angel began falling away. Even when he started freaking out around the holidays we all stood by him. By the time my evil double showed up, Angel was pretty much fully reintegrated back into the Slayerettes, or at least as integrated as he ever was.

Or so we all thought.

Things started falling apart quickly after that. The whole deal with the Mayor, Faith’s betrayal, Angel’s agreement to work ‘undercover’ to expose Faith’s treachery -- God, could I possibly add another double entendre in that sentence? They say hindsight is always 20/20, but even now, I can’t seem to figure out where the whole mess started.

But I do know how it ended.

Faith’s gone -- into a coma she’ll probably never come out of. The Mayor’s dead, taking fourteen members of the faculty and senior class with him. Sunnydale High is being leveled to the ground -- too much structural damage from the explosion, the authorities said. Lastly, and to me the most devastating of all, Angel is leaving Sunnydale -- without so much as a goodbye to any of us.

Just thinking about his insensitivity gets me really angry again. How could he do that? After everything he’s been through with all of us, how could he just slip away? Doesn’t he know how much it’s going to hurt not having him around anymore? Doesn’t he care?

As my temper rises, what began as aimless wandering through the mansion slowly increases into a jerky pattern of pacing. Filled with indignant anger, I pay little attention to my physical movements, walking more on auto-pilot than with any conscious destination in mind.

Different memories of Angel are coming to me now -- of Buffy and him, of his stint as Angelus, a fleeting glimpse of him fighting amid the sea of bodies at Graduation. Despite my anger, or maybe because of it, my eyes grow moist with tears. Damn it! Haven’t I cried enough in the past couple of days? I do my best to swallow the lump in my throat, to keep the tears that threaten to fall from spilling down my cheeks.

Unfortunately, I’m so distracted by trying to reign in my emotions, I don’t look where I’m going. My stumble is so graceless, that for a moment, I’m almost glad that I am alone here. At least that way, nobody else can see such a classic example of what a clutz I am.

Glaring at the area rug that tripped me, I see that I accidentally flipped up a corner of it when my toe got caught in the edge. Happy to have found something, however inanimate, to take out my anger upon, I draw my foot backwards to kick the offending edge back into place. Before I land the blow, something underneath the rug catches my attention.

There, burned deeply into the floor, is a blackened scorch mark.

As soon as I see it, my anger dissipates out of me like the air rushing from a deflating balloon. Of course I know what this is. Buffy told me all about it after we found out Angel had returned. This was the burn mark left behind when he was thrown out of Hell.

I’ve never actually seen it before. The only time I was here when it was still visible was when that Watcher lady went nuts, so needless to say, we were all a little distracted. By the time I knew what to look for, Angel had already covered it up with the carpet, and I wasn’t about to say, ‘hey Angel, mind if I take a look at where you landed when you got tossed?’ Sure, like *that* would go over well.

But now that I was alone, I found myself *needing* to see it. Sinking to my knees, my hand tremored as I reached out and pushed the already-displaced corner of the rug back some more.

The scorch marks are burned deeply into the patterned concrete floor. The blackness of the marks contrasts eerily with the dirty white area that had been miraculously protected by Angel’s body. Somehow, I’d managed to stumble over the side of the carpet that covered the part of the silhouette where Angel’s head had been.

Seeing that burn mark makes me wonder -- not for the first time -- why Angel came back. Was it for Buffy? Or maybe for his part he would need to play in stopping the Mayor’s ascension? Or was it simply because somebody with a soul truly didn’t belong in Hell?

That last thought sent made me feel happy, because if it *was* the case, then, however small, I actually did something really good. In a way, it almost made all the sh...ah...stuff I’ve suffered over the past three years worthwhile. I’d saved a friend from Hell itself. *Dah, dah, dah!* I can almost hear the cheesy background music. Geez, Willow, over-dramatic much?

I wonder, though, if Angel ever knew that I’m the one who restored his soul. I’m sure that, on some level, he must have known that I am the only one who knows enough about magic to have pulled it off -- well, myself and Giles. But Angelus was...busy...with Giles right before it happened, so he must have put the pieces together.

But if he did, why didn’t he ever say anything to me? I know I should feel angry right about now, but surprisingly, I don’t. Instead I feel sad, like I’ve lost my best friend. Then again, maybe I have. Well, not my *best* friend, but a friend all the same.

The house is cold and lonely, like it’s been empty for years rather than just a few days. Needing some kind of affirmation that Angel really had been here at one point in time, I hesitantly move my hand forward. Barely touching the stone beneath, my fingers trace along the outline of where Angel’s face once rested.

Before I even realize that it’s coming, an enormous sob just bursts out of me. Less than an hour ago, I remember thinking that I didn’t have anymore tears left to cry, but it seems as if I’ve accidentally discovered a whole new well of them -- one labeled with the name ‘Angel.’

These aren’t ordinary tears, though; these tears are coming from deep within my own soul. My throat is already hurting, swollen and scratchy from the way I’ve abused it lately. My face it hot, and I know without looking that it must be as red as a cooked lobster. I could care less. The strength in my legs goes out, but I don’t care about that either.

In the end, I’m sitting there on the floor, alone, curled up into a fetal position next to the burned out silhouette of Angel, crying -- no, not crying -- but...

...sobbing? Is that what I hear? I haven’t been gone from the house for more than an hour, and now there is somebody crying in what sounds like the living room? That’s what I get for living on a Hellmouth, I guess. Not that I’m going to be living here much longer.

Careful not to make any noise, I carefully stow the plastic bag of fresh blood that I’m carrying in a darkened recess of the garden. Even as I’m doing so, my mind is racing to figure out just who in the hell is inside the house.

Buffy. It has to be Buffy. She must have thought I would have been gone by now, like I said I would be. I honestly thought that I would be leaving when I said that, but between the aftereffects of the poison from Faith’s arrow and the injuries I got fighting that mob of vampires during the Mayor’s ascension attempt; I was in no condition to travel.

I really don’t want to see Buffy right now. Skulking around Sunnydale unnoticed has been trying enough without a visit from my ex-girlfriend added into the mix. Not for the first time, I feel a wave of bitterness settle over me.

Although I know that it’s for the best, a part of me resents having to leave town. Oh, I know that it’s mostly my own fault, but still, I can’t help but be upset that *I’m* the one who has to pay for our mutual involvement. In a weird kind of way, it’s almost like a divorce and, granted it’s by default, but Buffy is getting everything: my house, my friends, even the damn town itself.

Given my emotions at the moment, I don’t think it would be good for either of us if we were to run into each other right now. That being the case, I start to head back out to the garden to wait until she leaves.

‘But what if something else has happened?’ a tiny voice inside me questions. What if something untoward has happened to one of the others, like Giles or, God forbid, Willow? I close my eyes and offer up a short prayer for the others’ safety to any power that would listen. That still doesn’t solve my dilemma, though.

Go or stay? Unable to make up my mind, I creep forward, moving slower than necessary to think about what, if anything, I would say to Buffy. Unfortunately, nothing concrete came to mind by the time I reached the doorway leading to the main downstairs room.

At first I don’t see anybody in the room, but then I follow the sounds of the sobs downwards. Expecting to see a petite blond slayer, I’m absolutely dumbfounded to see a petite, redheaded witch instead.

Willow?!? What on earth is she doing here? And why is she curled up in a ball on my floor crying her eyes out? How did she even know I was still in town for that matter?

Now I’m more certain than ever that something awful has happened. Is it Buffy? Giles? Or did Oz do something to get her worked up like this? I don’t get it. I thought that things were fine between the two of them, especially when I caught their...scents...on each other the day of the Mayor’s ascension. From what little I know about their relationship, becoming lovers wasn’t a step that either of them was likely to rush into...impending doom or not. But if it’s not Oz, then what could have possibly driven Willow here of all places? Suddenly, I *need* to know what’s happened.

Unlike the hesitation I would be feeling if I’d discovered Buffy on the floor, I’m off towards Willow’s side in a flash. Of all the people I’ve encountered during my time here in Sunnydale, Willow is probably the only one I can genuinely call my friend.

Right now, my friend obviously needs some serious comforting.

First, though, I need to find out what’s going on with her. Not wanting to scare her with my sudden appearance, I make a lot of noise -- for a vampire, anyway -- as I close the distance between us. Of course, as loud as she’s sobbing, she still doesn’t hear me approach.

As I kneel down in front of her, I notice that she’s flipped back the carpet to expose that burn mark left in the floor, which leaves me truly puzzled. It’s time to get some answers to all the questions spinning around in my head. Reaching out to touch her shaking shoulder, I call out to her softly.

“Willow, it’s...




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