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Part Twelve
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AFTERMATH
The day that followed the fight was a little muddled, as most things are after you have met death face to face and come away laughing. But no one was laughing when they left the warehouse late during the night, a few hours before dawn. They made their way slowly through the city, ignored by the few mortals that they crossed paths with. Buffy suddenly became weak and leaned against Angel for support, barely keeping her eyes open. She was hungry, so hungry. . . He held her upright, though the shooting pain in his ankle made it abundantly clear that he himself would need some time to recuperate. He knew that they all had wounds that needed to heal.
Aaron was uncharacteristically silent, walking slightly away from the rest of the group, lost in his thoughts. His path seemed to wander, and every once in a while he would veer off towards an ally way, then shake himself awake and turn back the way he was supposed to go. Angel had a feeling that if Lily hadn't been guiding him, he would have somehow managed to become lost in the vast city that night, no matter how well he knew his way. Still, they all made it to Matthew's luxurious apartments just before dawn.
Once there, they didn't really get any rest. Buffy immediately collapsed as soon as they reached the doorstep, as the loss of blood and the hunger for it became too much. Matthew took charge right away, ordering Angel and Zachary to carry her upstairs to his bedroom. There, he took care of her, washing and bandaging her gaping wound, then feeding her bag after bag of fresh blood procured from a nearby blood bank, all the while talking to her, speaking so softly none of the others could hear him. Whatever he said, it seemed to calm the injured girl and she didn't struggled at all even in the first few confusing moments after she awoke. His efforts as a nursemaid were somewhat hampered by Angel, who hovered over Buffy, constantly asking Matthew questions, until he threw up his hands and ordered everyone to go downstairs and STAY there.
Angel and the others (once they were finally herded into the kitchen like misbehaving children) tended to themselves and each other, bandaging wounds and wiping away blood. They pulled bags of the dark red liquid out of the fridge, severely depleting Matthew's normal supply that was there for his Children of the family. A quiet sense of comradeship brought them together, erasing their buried animosity towards Angel for disappearing. They spent the day filling each other in on the different parts of the battle, elaborating and sometimes exaggerating, in a very human fashion. Angel suddenly realized how much he had missed the family, missed being able to tell others of his feelings and vampiric tendencies and emotions, and not wondering whether they were horrified or not. Even Buffy wouldn't understand some of the things he felt, not even now, when she was a half-vampire. She had never lost her soul and therefore couldn't comprehend how all of the things he had done haunted his dreams and waking thoughts.
As soon as the sun had set, Angel quietly woke Buffy and borrowed Matthew's car in order to get them home. Neither spoke much, since both were exhausted. Angel hadn't slept at all and Buffy not enough. They arrived back at the apartment and, much to Buffy's surprise, everything was as it should be. Angel quietly explained that he had cleaned the apartment and thrown out all the broken furniture. She didn't say much at that, merely nodded sagely and went to her room to change into a short, white, cotton nightdress. She liked the light and clean feeling of the knee-length clothe against her skin, especially after wearing the same clothes for nearly two days straight. Without a second thought, she tossed her ensemble into the trash, forgetting that the jeans belonged to Angel, as did the belt.
They both wandered around the apartment for a while, uneasy and unsure of what to say to each other. It struck them as absurd, since there was really no reason for their self-consciousness. Both were confused, their chaotic state of mind enhanced by their lack of sleep. Finally Buffy drifted into her room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Angel went around the flat, turning off the lights and checking the window shades. Eventually he made his way into his own room, where he double-checked the blinds nearest to his bed, just to make sure that in his hazy state of mind, he didn't forget to close them, therefore committing unintentional suicide. The others, at the far end of the room, he left open for some reason, perhaps to see the moonlight. He figured he could get up just before dawn and close them then.
He left his lights off, being able to see clearly in the dark. He silently organized some things on his dresser, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep, but not sure why. It didn't really matter, he was used to insomnia. Still, it was a pain in the butt, especially when he was this tired.
After a little while, he just gave up and decided that even if he couldn't sleep, he could at least rest his aching muscles. Stripping down to his black boxers, he lay down under the new silk sheets and stared up at the ceiling, his mind wandering from subject to subject. He tried to think of a multitude of different things, but he kept on coming back to Buffy. To her beautiful face, to her laughter, to her strength, to her frailty. . . Angel sighed inwardly to himself. No doubt about it, he was officially obsessed.
It was as if she had been summoned by his thoughts. She pushed the door open slightly, peeking her head inside the room to see if he was still awake. The image struck him as child-like for some reason and he pushed himself up on his elbows, watching her silently as she entered the room. She met his eyes for a second, then looked down, turning to shut the door. She remained there for a moment, with her back to him, leaning against the wood, until he asked gently, "What is it?"
Buffy turned round again, this time staring him straight in the eye. Her blond hair framed her face softly, the moonlight that trickled in from the windows shadowing half her face, while bathing the rest of it in a soft light. She looked vulnerable and strong at the same time, a nineties woman able to defend herself from violence, but still needing emotional support and love. For a couple of minutes Buffy just stared at him, sighing once, as if there were a heavy load on her shoulders. Finally she broke her gaze, glancing down at her hands, then up again.
"I. . . I'm sorry," she whispered, "I shouldn't be here, you need to sleep," she hesitated. "It's just- I just didn't want to be alone. When I'm alone, the memories, they seep into my thoughts, and they torment me, they're trying to make me crazy." Her voice sped up, then she stopped, collecting herself and organizing her thoughts. Angel waited patiently until she started again, slowly and carefully, "Whenever I dream, I remember what he did to me and I wake up crying. That's why I snuck into your bed the other night. When I fell asleep touching you, I didn't have the dream, I didn't dream at all. I don't know why, maybe because you're the only person that I can still speak to, or maybe it's because of how. . . how close we are, or. . . I- I don't know, it's just all so muddled, I don't know what to think-" she ended desperately, pain and confusion lacing her voice. She sounded close to tears again.
"Shhh," he murmured gently, rising from his bed and pulling her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, whispering quiet sounds of comfort into her ear. He was shocked at how limp she was, just like a little rag doll. She let him hold her upright, placing her head on his strong shoulder and squeezing her eyes shut, as if to block everything else out, so she would only feel this, feel his arms around her, hear only his voice talking to her, smell only his body close to her. She wanted time to stop, to erase everything prior to this moment and everything that would come after it, so she could just stay here in his arms, and be safe forever.
Angel gently pulled away, holding her face in his hands, pushing back stray strands of hair with his thumbs. He half-smiled at her, then let go, returning to sit on the huge bed. Swinging his legs around, he settled down once more and with his hand, beckoned for Buffy to join him. She hesitated for a moment, then climbed into bed beside him as he held the cover open. She lay on her side, facing away from him, stiff as a board. Angel settled the covers over them, then placed his arm over her and drew her near, so they were back-to-chest. He found Buffy's hand and held it loosely, lightly stroking it in a calming manner. Gently he blew air across the back of her neck, and he felt her relax slightly. He didn't say anything else, just held her and kept the memories at bay, and within a few moments she had drifted into a blessedly, dreamless sleep.
* * *
I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. Watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming. I could spend my life, in this sweet surrender, I could stay lost in this moment forever. Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure.
* * *
Buffy lay still, staring up into the darkness, unseeing, uncaring. She felt isolated, detached. It was as if she were floating in a giant black void, with nothing in sight. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything other than the cold, still form lying across her. Angel lay down near her midriff, his arm slung loosely over her thighs, with his cheek pressed gently against her soft stomach as he slept peacefully. They'd both been tossing and turning in their sleep, and she had a feeling that this was only one position change of many.
Absently, she began to play with the soft, short hair at the back of Angel's head. The thought barely disturbed her at all. That surprised her. She realized that she was finally beginning to accept the fact that she was dead, though she supposed that since she had never really begun to think of herself as 'dead', a part of her was still clinging stubbornly to her mortal life, a life that no longer existed for her. Buffy really didn't want to think about it, but she knew that if she didn't, she would eventually go out of her mind, haunted by a past that could no longer hurt her.
She let her hand stray down Angel's neck to his upper back. Without thinking about it she began to trace the outline of his tattoo with her fingertips, finding the slow movement soothing for herself.
In that bed, surrounded by the arms of the one person she loved most in this world, Buffy finally faced the fears that had been chasing her for the past two and a half weeks. The fight with the Anointed One's thugs, the helplessness and the fear when she had awoken, bound to a table in complete darkness. She remembered the pain when the torture had finally begun, how it had progressed and sharpened, concentrating on certain areas until it was unbearable, then it ended, leaving her sobbing and gasping for breath. Then it would start again, worse than before.
Buffy winced slightly as she remembered her own screams. During the entire session, a small, detached part of her brain had cataloged every event, analyzing and observing herself. Buffy hadn't told anyone that, not even Giles or Angel. She suspected that that small part had been her unconscious way of keeping her sanity. But now she had to fight to keep that sanity. She had to say good bye to her innocent, human heart and welcome her new, colder one. She had to finish dying.
* * *
Don't wanna close my eyes, Don't wanna fall asleep, Cause I'd miss you, babe, and I don't wanna miss a thing. Cause even when I dream of you, The sweetest dream would never do. I'd still miss you babe, and I don't wanna miss a thing.
* * *
Buffy. . . She was there somewhere. . . He just had to know where to look. Yes, over there! By the window, sitting there in the dark, he could hardly see her, she was like a ghost.
A distant part of him realized that he was dreaming, but that he wasn't fully asleep, which was why he was aware of his dream. Still, he didn't want to stop, he wanted to remain in limbo, see where this went, see what she would do.
With an unreal grace, Buffy slowly turned her body from her perch by the large, open window and smiled joyously, laughing out loud at him. Slow warmth stole across his body, dulling his senses, yet heightening his awareness of her. Everything seemed like it was surrounded by a mist and Buffy looked weird. She was just as beautiful as ever, but there was something different about her, something ethereal.
She stood and extended her hand to him, so small and delicate. Angel studied her long, tapered fingers, entranced by their simple beauty. In fact, everything about her was distracting him, like he was trying to memorize every particle of her being. In slow motion he raised his hand and gently held onto the tips of her fingers.
Suddenly, she slid away, out of his reach. She was in the sunlight, where he couldn't go, yet he was still in the dark, alone. He opened his mouth to call out for her, yet nothing came out. Buffy turned to look at him and Angel knew that she'd somehow heard him anyway. But there was something wrong, she wasn't coming back. . . No! She was moving away, away into the blinding sunlight and the veiling mist. Her eyes, they were so sad, she didn't want to leave, but she had to. Why? Why did she have to go? Please, wait, come back!
She raised her hand to her lips and lightly blew him a kiss, closing her eyes half way. There was a flash of light and he felt something brush his cheek, like a warm wind. The ground was falling away from him and he was falling, falling. . .
* * *
Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating,
And I'm wondering what you're dreaming,
Wondering if it's me you are seeing.
Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together.
I just wanna stay with you in this moment forever.
* * *
Angel's eyes snapped open and he lay still, wondering what had awoken him. Suddenly he realized that he was alone in the bed, that it was still dark out and he missed the small form curled up under his arm. He pushed himself up on his elbows and glanced around, his probing eyes penetrating the darkness. He found her at the other end of the room.
Buffy sat half-turned away from him, staring out the open window. Her light, pale dress made her look like a fairy or something, slipping off one shoulder. The moonlight illuminated her face, shining in her hair and casting a bluish tinge to everything it touched. She seemed heavenly, yet innocent as well, sitting in a big stuffed chair with her legs pulled up like a child. She didn't turn to him as in the dream, just sat there and stared at the open sky high above the city lights, engrossed with the stars in the heavens above.
She remained like that for a long while, unmoving. This startled him a bit, for only more experienced vampires could stay as still as she was for such a long period of time. Yet she didn't seem to be concentrating, rather she appeared as if she was so caught up in thought that she had merely forgotten about moving her physical body. Angel didn't speak, he was content with just being able to watch her, to study the dignified straightness of her back, to admire the graceful, swan-like curve of her white neck, to stare at the slender hands clasped in her lap. He sat there for a long while, enjoying the sight of her, then decided to convince her to come back to bed.
Angel sat up silently, letting the sheets slide down his stomach. He rested his arms on his knees, asking in a hushed voice, "What're you doing?"
She didn't turn, didn't jump, as if she'd known all along that he'd been awake and watching her. Instead she continued to stare out the window. "Thinking. Admiring. The stars are so beautiful, so surreal. It's like they're so isolated from everything else in the galaxy that nothing would dare to hurt them. They wouldn't abide it," she hesitated, enraptured by their shining glory. "I wish I was like them. I wish nothing could hurt me."
"I know what you mean," he said after a short period of silence. "But if you didn't hurt, didn't suffer, you wouldn't be the least bit human. You're ability to feel is what sets you apart from the demons you kill."
At this, she turned her head, staring thoughtfully at him in silence for a moment. Suddenly she tilted her head and laughed quietly, her shoulders shaking. "Yeah, I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I just never thought of it that way. Didn't really have the time to think about stuff like that. Though, I suppose," her laughter faded and she smiled somewhat bitterly, "I suppose I have all the time in the world now."
"That's right," he replied, his eyes darkening a little. "WE have all the time in the world now. The time to think, to speak, to feel, to explore, to live. We have all the time in the world in which to discover everything about each other and our world," his voice became more animated as his thoughts raced ahead of him. "There's so much I want to show you, so much I want to tell you about, the night, me, the Family, history, people. Buffy, this isn't the end of your life, this is just the beginning. You never lost your soul, you don't have the guilt that the rest of us do. You've got so much to learn."
She stared at him silently, her face a cold visage a mask for her inner turmoil and he wondered if he had somehow upset her. Buffy saw the doubt in his eyes and she smiled wistfully, unfolding her lean body and making her way slowly over towards him. "I know I do, I know. I want to learn, I really do. I'm just not sure how."
He smiled at the comment and whispered to her, "I think you'll get the hang of it after a while. You've always been a quick study." He shifted onto his side as she climbed onto the bed and let her lean back beside him. He stared down into her young, smooth face and felt his heart melt at the sight of her. Inside he silently laughed at himself, reacting like an inexperienced schoolboy.
Buffy stared up at Angel's dark face lovingly, raising her hand and running it across his cheek and down his jaw. God, he was so beautiful. She shifted slightly, then asked, "Do you love me?"
"What?" he asked dumb founded, surprised that she even felt the need to question his devotion. Hadn't he already said those words a thousand times with his actions?
"Do you love me?" she asked again, self-consciousness creeping into her light voice. Yet still she held his strong gaze, her blue eyes shining bright.
A look of deep concentration came over his face and he cupped her cheek in the palm of his free hand, while supporting himself on his other elbow. "I love you so much it hurts," he whispered fiercely, "I love you more than I've loved anyone else. I would kill for you, I'd die for you. Whatever you ask, I'll do. Whatever you want, I'll get for you. I'd give up forever for you."
Tears welled in Buffy's eyes in light of his fierce love. She swallowed a cry, stroking the side of his face, then pulling his head down to kiss him deeply. She held him there over her, thrilling at the feel of his lips against hers, taking in his familiar scent. They stayed like that for what seemed like eternity, then he pulled back, slightly flustered.
Buffy kept her hand resting lightly on the back of his neck and he ran his fingertips up and down her smooth arm. She blinked a couple of times to banish the tears, needing to ask one more thing. "Will you love me no matter what happens? Even if we get separated, or one of us is . . . Well, you know. Will you love me till we're both dead?" The look on her face was fragile, teetering between fear and a need to know.
Angel didn't answer right away, leaning down to kiss her nose, then barely brushing her lips. Hovering down by her ear, he whispered, "No. Much, much longer." He kissed her full on the lips, feeling her arms encircle him and hold him, then buried his face in her neck.
Gently she replied, "I don't ever want to leave you."
He smiled against her neck, kissing it softly again and again. "You'll never have to."
* * *
I don't wanna miss one smile,
I don't wanna miss one kiss,
I just wanna be with you,
Right here with you, just like this.
I just wanna hold you close,
Feel your heart so close to mine.
And just stay here in this moment,
For all the rest of time.
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