DISCLAIMER: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon,
Lazy Dave, Kuzui, and Fox Studios. The story contents
are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2010 by Djinn.
This story is Rated PG-13.
Something Worth Living
For
by Djinn
When Angel was a
vampire, he thought seeing the sun would be a beautiful thing, thought that it
would make him feel warm and safe, like it had in Pylea.
But now that he's human, the sun is too bright and he's squinting as he walks
down the street, trying to find his way without vampire hearing. He can't hear
heartbeats anymore—except his own. That, too, was supposed to be comforting,
his heart going rump-a-pum-pum like the little drummer boy, but it's beating so
hard and so fast that he wishes it would just stop.
Not stop forever,
but stop for a moment. While he catches his breath. Breath...so strange. In and
out, something he didn't need to do for so long. His body does it for him,
inhale and exhale. He breathes hard when he runs; he coughs when he swallows
water too fast and some of it goes down the wrong pipe.
Water—he's
intimately reminded of how much of his body is water. He pees, all the time it
feels like. Drinks water because he's thirsty, pees it out a while later. And
he sweats. Like now, with the sun growing hotter as the day goes on, beating on
him. Where his collar meets his neck, he's sweating. Under his arms, his
forehead, his feet in his shoes, all sweaty.
Being human is
so...immediate. Also a little bit messy.
So this is it. The
prize at the end of the rainbow. The reward for fighting the good fight. Shanshu and then some. So what the
hell is he supposed to do now?
What is his
purpose now that his destiny is complete?
He walks, eyes
pressed mostly shut in a too bright world. He walks and hopes there's a reason
he picked this road, this direction, this day.
##
Buffy leans back
and tries to ignore Giles as he watches her in that way he has, the way that
assesses her. She's still in one piece, still among the living, still
wisecracking—or she was until a few minutes ago. Suddenly, she's tired, and
he's tired, and they've fought too many damn demons today for any words to be
necessary.
He hands her a
glass of whiskey—she's learned to drink it but has never learned to love it—and
she curls into his couch and watches him throw back his drink.
"What
now?" she asks softly.
"Sleep. Eat. Fight
more." He's a lot more terse than he was back in
Sunnydale. Back when she was still young and he wasn't as old.
Back when there
was a reason to hope, a reason to fight.
She closes her
eyes and sips the booze. She can't let Giles see that she's feeling this way. He
knows how tired she is, but he mustn't know that she might like to just let go
and sink.
Her phone rings;
the ringtone is Willow's. She lets it go to voicemail. If it's trouble, Willow
will call Giles. Old habits die hard.
"Buffy?"
Giles' tone says it all.
"I'm just
tired. I don't have the energy tonight."
He stands and lays
his hand on her shoulder then says, "I'm turning in."
She looks up at
him and murmurs, "I'll let myself out."
She sits in the
quiet of his apartment, drinking her whiskey, wondering why she still fights.
##
The dark's scary. Angel
used to live in this night, used to be safe only when the sun was down, but now
he's nervous, and he glances behind him to make sure nothing is following him.
As a vampire, he
would have known if something was following him, would have
smelled/heard/sensed it. Now—now he's like a baby again. Defenseless.
Well, maybe not
that bad. But weak. Definitely not the warrior he was.
"What have we
here?" The voice is nasal, the smell that of the grave. Even as a human,
Angel can smell the corpse-like stench of a recently risen vamp.
"Not now,
buddy," he says, and he clutches the sharp piece of wood he found, that
he's been holding tightly to ever since the sun set.
"I said, what
have we—"
He goes up in a
poof of dust, and Angel is still standing there wondering if he would have had
the strength to hit the heart—had he been allowed to take the shot.
"Okay, that
must seem weird, but you'll be fine and—"
Her voice. Her voice.
There is a reason
he came this way; there is a reason he finally ventured out today.
"Angel?"
"Buffy."
He holds out the stake, sees her confusion at the way he's moving. He knows
he's slower, that she can tell something is different. "I was ready for
him."
Because of course
that's just what you want to say to the woman you love, that you've never
stopped loving no matter who else came along. The woman you hope to God is
still in love with you. You tell her you were ready to take down some vamp
she's already killed.
She moves closer. "Angel,
what's happened?"
She doesn't
remember, of course. Can't possibly remember the time he was human and she was
his lover. When they stayed in bed all morning and ate food and made love and
laughed and cried and talked and touched.
She can't
remember, and he tries to push the hurt away, because he knows it's not fair to
blame her. They took the memories from her; it never happened for her.
Still, he wishes
she could remember what they lost. What maybe, just maybe, they could
rediscover.
"I'm
human."
She studies him,
and he notices the lines under her eyes. Life's been hard for her in the years
since he's seen her. Fighting all the time will age you, especially when you're
alone.
And he knows in
his gut, in a sense that belongs to Angel the lover, not Angel the vampire, or
Angel the human, that this woman, this girl, this slayer is alone.
She isn't with
anyone. She isn't in love with someone else. She's not cookie dough.
She's done.
And she's here. And
he's here. They're here together, when together can really mean that.
"I'm
human," he says again, and he smiles, and his smile grows as he sees her
process this idea, as he watches her face light up, and her eyes turn from something
dull and hopeless into the bright things he remembers.
She's beautiful,
this slayer he adores. She's everything he's ever wanted.
And finally,
finally, she is his.
"I've missed
you," he says as she closes the distance and kisses him.
##
She supposes they
are lucky they made it to her apartment alive, that some vamp didn't jump them.
They never let go of each other, never stopped kissing. Her Angel is here, is
human, is alive, and has missed her.
Her Angel is
finally her Angel.
She locks the
door, and they don't talk as they rip off each other's clothes, as they fall
into her bed and make love, and she worries for a second about the curse, that
maybe he'll revert if he's happy, but he's laughing, and she decides she'll worry
about the curse later.
And he doesn't
turn back into a vampire. Angelus is nowhere in sight. Not the first time she
makes him perfectly happy.
And not the next.
She quits worrying
about it by the third time.
"Angel,"
is all she can say. "Angel" and "Angel" and
"Angel." She breathes his name over his chest, into his ear, onto his
neck. She's smiling so much that muscles in her cheek twinge at the unexpected
workout.
It's been so long
since she was happy. It's been so very long.
"I've missed
you," she says to him, and he nods and pulls her back to him, and after
they both get to be happy again, they fall asleep in each other's arms.
She wakes to find
the sun bathing him, his skin warm and human, not burning up in the light that
would have killed him before. He stirs and smiles, and she realizes his eyes
are beautiful in the sunshine, his hair shines with red highlights she's never
noticed, and he has freckles on his nose.
"I love
you," she says as he pulls her down to him.
"I love you,
too."
There's nothing
more to say until they both realize they're starving.
##
Angel almost
forgets to eat as he watches Buffy. She's laughing at something he said, and
she throws back her head, and her eyes are dancing, and she looks young again,
his girl, his lovely, vibrant girl. He smiles as she teases him, and he digs
into his pancakes because they taste good, and because maple syrup is a
revelation.
He sips his orange
juice and nearly spits it out. The revelation ends when maple syrup and orange
juice mix.
She laughs at his
face, and he reaches for her hand and holds it, smiling like an idiot as the
orange juice fights the maple syrup all the way to his stomach.
Stomachs are
wonderful; food sliding down his gullet is wonderful. Sitting here with the
woman he loves, near a window with bright sunshine streaming in, eating food
that will soon be in his stomach is wonderful.
There is not much
that isn't wonderful, and this is so unexpected he has to swallow extra hard to
get past the lump that appears in his throat.
"I'm so
happy," Buffy says, and she looks it, she practically glows.
He grins. "I
plan to make you happier."
"Really? And
how do you plan to do that?" She's grinning, too. A suggestive and utterly
sexy grin.
"I plan to
keep you in bed until—"
Until what? Until
the sun goes down and she has to go out and slay? Until...
"What?" She
leans forward, following his expression perfectly as he goes from happy to
worried in record time.
"You still
slay."
"I am the slayer, ergo..." She gives
him a crooked half-smile.
"I'm
not...I'm not super powered."
"No, you're
human." She frowns, lines on her forehead showing up that remind him
they've lost so much time. "And you're done fighting, isn't that what you
said? Turning human meant you were done?"
It means no more
is expected of him, so he supposes it means he's done, but it obviously doesn't
mean she's done, and he hates that.
She looks down,
her smile rueful. "Angel, I am what I am. I fight. You don't have
to."
"I can't just
sit home..." He takes a deep breath.
"Then
don't." She studies him. "Giles fights. Xander fights. Even Andrew
fights. I think you can, too. If you don't mind working for your
victories."
She doesn't
remember how bad at this he is when he's not a vampire. She can't possibly
remember.
Wait...Andrew fights?
"You can give
me tips," he says.
"Sure." She
has gone back to her pancakes, the lines smoothing as she smiles at him.
She's not worried.
She's not worried about him.
"We'll fight
together," he says, trying the idea on for size.
"You'll
probably fight just a little bit behind me." She winks at him. "I
won't hold it against you."
And he sees that
she won't. And for one moment, he rebels at the thought.
Then he feels her
hand on his, sees her brilliant smile.
"One day at a
time," he says, and he thinks maybe he can do this. He remembers teaching
Cordy to fight. Remembers how Wesley went from a bumbling idiot to someone who
could be counted on.
A dead someone who
could be counted on.
But still, a bad
ass for a time.
"What are you
thinking about?" She's laughing at him, at the expression on his face
probably.
"The past. Our
future."
It's the right
answer.
They order more
bacon and sit drinking coffee for hours.
##
Buffy takes
Angel's hand as she knocks on Giles' door. Giles opens it and stares at Angel,
surprise and very little welcome on his face.
"He's
human," she says, which is a major duh statement because it's a very sunny
day and Angel's not going up in smoke as he waits in the sunlight.
"Oh. Well. My."
"Articulate
as ever. Can we come in?"
For a moment, a
shadow passes Giles' face. She can follow his logic and steps across the
threshold just to show him she can. "Human, Giles. Fully human. Don't need
an invite, but it would be the polite thing..."
"Of course. Come
in." He moves aside. "Angel, I heard you were..."
She glances at
him. He heard what? He never told her jack about what he heard.
"That
is...uh."
Angel nods. "It's
pretty strange. The prophecy."
"Ah, the Shanshu, of course. I admit, I'd somewhat discounted that. And
I know Spike thought—" He stops talking probably because both she and
Angel are glaring at him.
"Spike was
wrong," Angel says and there's anger and bitterness and just a touch of
betrayal in his voice.
"Well, quite, since here you stand, living and breathing. But I
wonder: could the prophecy have worked on both of you?"
"Spike's in Ecuador. And he's still a vampire, or was the
last time he called...which was yesterday." Buffy tries not to flinch from
the twin looks she's getting. "He and I talk every now and then, and
yesterday morning was one of the nows. Get over
it." She would like to put a piece of furniture between herself and two of
the founding members of the "I hate Spike" club.
If Xander were
here, they'd have quorum. Then again, the "I hate Angel" club might
also be in session, so probably best that Xander isn't here.
"Are you
hungry? Can I offer you anything?" Giles has remembered his manners
finally.
"No, we ate
once we woke up." Angel blushes, deeply. It's charming and funny, and
Buffy moves closer to him, since she knows Giles won't be happy about this.
He meets her eyes
and she doesn't look away. What they have—she's never considered him a lover,
even if they have had sex. They've turned to each other when they needed
something to hold on to, when they needed to drown pain and exhaustion, when
there didn't seem to be a reason to go on and reaching out was the only thing
left.
They never talk
about it. They never analyze it. He says he's going to bed and she either joins
him or she doesn't.
Usually she doesn't.
Now...now she
won't for sure. And she sees this knowledge written on his face, and she knows
Angel is watching them, and he's too smart not to get it.
He doesn't say
anything, just moves a little closer to her, like he can't help himself, has to
lay claim.
"He's back. Angel's
back." She can hear the hope in her voice, the apology to Giles in her
voice.
And Giles smiles
at her, his eyes a little sad, but he reaches out and touches her cheek. "I'm
so happy for you, Buffy."
And he almost
sounds like he means it. She knows he means to give her his approval, even if
it hurts him.
"Welcome
back, Angel." He claps Angel on the shoulder. Really, really hard.
She hears Angel
let out a "woof," and he tries to return the favor, but Giles is
already moving to the kitchen.
"Well, this
calls for a drink, don't you think?"
"We like
whiskey," she tells Angel, even though she doesn't like it, but she's
thinks it's important to have something left with Giles that is theirs.
"I like
whiskey." He frowns. "Actually, I used to like it way, way too much. You
have any pop, Giles? Or water's good."
Giles brings him a
pop, hands her a whiskey and clinks her glass with his, then clinks Angel's
glass. "To returning friends."
She knows Angel
isn't his friend but loves him for trying.
"To those who
never left," Angel says, and his smile is an apology and a thank you, and
she feels something inside her melt.
He's back. Angel's
back. This will be awkward for a while, but it'll work out.
##
Angel watches
Buffy and Giles as they fight off some vamps. He's behind them, doing his part,
and paying for it with every punch, every kick. He stakes one for their half
dozen.
When did Giles
become super librarian? This is just embarrassing.
The next day, when
Buffy and Giles are doing research, Angel wanders around town, checking out the
gyms. He sees one with the kind of men he's looking for. Not the 'roid rangers—the body builders who couldn't fight if their
sleekly oiled lives depended on it—but tough, mixed martial arts type guys. They
look like they could kill someone with a look.
That's what he
wants.
"You need
something?" the owner asks, his tone surly, clearly not interested in the
answer as Angel walks up.
This is a test,
Angel realizes. This is probably the moment ninety percent of the potential
customers ask for a brochure, then flee.
"I want to
learn how to fight." Not that he doesn't know how to fight now, but he
learned everything when he was a lot stronger and a lot faster and pretty much
invulnerable. He needs to learn to fight as a human.
He needs to start
over.
"I've had
some training. Mostly sloppy probably. I want to do it right this time."
The owner nods,
calls out to two guys sparring on a mat, "Dan, Henry, let's see what the
new guy's got."
The two step back
and Angel tries to not swallow hard. They don't look tough; they look lethal.
"I'm out of
shape," he says as he strips off his shirt—he doesn't have that many
shirts, and he doesn't want to explain to Buffy why it's got blood on it when
it didn't this morning. His pants are black, loose enough to move in, those he
won't worry about blood showing.
"You don't
look outta shape," Dan or Henry says as the
other one backs off.
"Looks can be
deceiving." Like some mild-mannered Englishman sleeping with your woman—what
the hell was that all about? Even if Buffy wasn't Angel's woman when it
happened. Isn't Giles supposed to be like a father
to her?
"I'm
Dan," the man says. "I'm gonna kick your
ass, but then I'm gonna teach you how to kick
mine." He smiles. It's not a nice look. "If you can tough it out here
and last awhile, and that's never a given."
"Okay. My
name's Angel."
Dan has him on his
back in two seconds. Dan hits him more times in the next two minutes than Angel
thinks possible. For a moment, the thinks this is hopeless.
Then he imagines
Giles taking off his glasses, polishing them with that damned handkerchief, and
saying, "She's really quite good, Angel. How strange that we've shared
her."
He meets Dan's
punch this time, uses the man's momentum against him. Dan doesn't go down, but
his punch doesn't connect, and he ends up on the far side of the mat.
"Well, looks
like we might have a fighter here after all." Dan looks over at the owner.
"I can work with this." He is smiling in what has to be delight.
Dan's proud of
him?
Angel grins and
can feel himself standing taller.
Librarians of the
world beware.
##
Buffy hands Giles
a crystal and watches as he works the spell Willow sent them. Once he finishes,
she says, "Angel's training, at Maurice's."
"He has
gotten better."
"Yeah. He's
pretty determined. Keeps saying it won't be like last time—I'm not really sure
what that means."
"I'm sure I
don't know." Giles sounds more distracted than peeved. He hasn't said a
word about the arrangement they had, or how it ended the moment Angel came
back.
She'd ask him if
they're okay, only she doesn't have to. They are. Giles loves her in so many
ways, has been her partner for so long in so many things—sex was just one of
them. Walking away from that doesn't mean walking away from everything else
they have.
Although she's
smart enough to know that what he cedes to Angel he'd probably stake Spike
over. His benevolence does have limits.
"You're
happy?" His voice is low, very casual, as if he hasn't just asked such a
big question.
"Do I not
look happy?"
"You look
much the same." He grins wryly at her. "When Angel's in the room,
then yes, you do tend to glow a little."
"Is being glowy a bad?"
He sighs and meets
her eyes. His are very gentle. "You being happy is never a bad thing,
Buffy. I care for you too much to deny you that. And frankly, I worry less when
you're happy."
"I
know." She worries less, too.
He puts down what
he's working on. "I know that what we had...it wasn't about being happy. It
was about survival."
She can almost
hear the "For you" unsaid in his words. Does he love her? In a way
beyond all the other ways he's loved her over the years?
Then he smiles,
and his smile is real, and his eyes are soft. "This is good. This is
right. This is a...reward that you deserve beyond
anyone I know. Be happy, Buffy. Be happy for as long as you can. So few of us get that."
She thinks of
Jenny. He's had women since, but she doesn't think he's ever allowed himself to
love them. Jenny was his once in a lifetime.
And Buffy's once
in a lifetime killed her.
Awkward does not
begin to cover this.
Giles takes a deep
breath, then hands her a book. "Ready for research?" His eyes are
untroubled, his smile easy.
He's either fine
with this or a better actor than she ever suspected.
##
Angel waves at
Maurice as he comes in the gym.
"Angel, come
here a sec."
He walks over to
the counter.
"Listen,
Henry's moving back to Jersey. You need a job or anything? I could use another instructor,
and Dan's got nothing but good to say about you."
"Seriously? You'd
give me a job?"
"I just said
that, didn't I?"
"My own
locker and everything."
"You have a
locker now."
"But you'd
give me a staff locker?" He smiles. It's been so long since anything felt
like his.
"They look
just like the regular ones."
"Maurice, do
not rain on my parade. I'd be honored to teach here."
"Kid,
sometimes I think you're from another century." Maurice reaches into a
drawer and hands him a stack of papers. "Fill these out and we'll get you
on the rolls."
As Angel walks
away, Maurice said, "Angel?"
He turns.
"I didn't
think you'd make it. I had you marked as a soft, spoiled rich brat."
"I used to be
that. It was a lifetime ago, though. That other century you mentioned." Angel
grins as Maurice waves him off, then he takes the paperwork to the training
tables in the back.
Dan comes out from
the changing room. "Taking Henry's place?"
"Yeah. If you
had anything to do with that, thanks."
"You're a
natural. And I don't say that lightly." Dan claps him on the shoulder. "Just
don't forget who's the top instructor around here."
Angel laughs.
"We'll see how long that lasts."
Dan claps him
harder on the shoulder, and Angel laughs again.
He breathes in the
smell of old wood and chalk, of mats and sweat. Home now. His home. Or one of
them.
His life is
beginning to be something that he's actually living. He likes that. A lot.
##
It's still a treat
to walk with Angel in the light of day. They're at the park, walking through
gardens that should probably bore them, but she's not bored and she can tell
he's not, either. He's laughing as he tells her about the little old lady who
tried to enroll at the gym, how Dan took pity on her and taught her a few self defense skills on the house.
"Why'd she want to join up?"
"Friend of
hers was mugged on the way to deposit her social security check." He
shakes his head. "It's not right."
"No, it's
not." But it also isn't otherworldly evil, and that's what Buffy fights. If
she sees a mugging, then hell yes, she'll stop it. But usually
little old ladies aren't depositing their checks in the cemetery at midnight.
"I'm
thinking..." He looks down, then meets her eyes. "I'm thinking of
organizing something. Like...a little old ladies safe-day out."
She bites back a
chuckle.
"Maurice is
willing to let me try. The day their checks come we take the van—probably have
to get a special step for them 'cause it's pretty
high—and take a bunch of them to the bank and grocery shopping. Most of them
don't drive anymore, so they only buy what they can carry or pull in those
little carts."
"That sounds
nice." She takes his hand. "That sounds right."
"It's not
saving the world." He shrugs. "But it's saving part of it."
"It's their
world. And you probably killed a lot of little old ladies when you were
Angelus..." She sees his face and grins to show him she's teasing. Sort
of.
"They weren't
really my victim of choice. Didn't provide much challenge and you know how I
liked that." He shakes his head. "That life...it seems so far away
and yet, it's not."
"I
know." She leans into him, settles in against his chest, imagining his
heart beating underneath her cheek. So warm. So human.
"You atoned. You made amends. And you were forgiven."
"And now I
want to do more than just be forgiven. I want to do something good."
"Fighting in
a graveyard isn't good enough for you?" She hears the sharpness in her
tone, winces.
"It is. But
this is good in a different way."
In his way—not her
way, or his old way. She gets that.
"Buffy, until
I met you, I didn't really do this. I just...existed when I got my soul back. I
fought if I had to, but I never sought out the good fight. I only became a
champion when I fell in love with you."
She smiles up at
him. If this is true, which she's not sure it is, it's a wonderful thing for
him to give her. She sometimes feels like she's left no mark on this world. That
everything she's done will disappear in the wind the same way the remnants of
the vamps do.
Who will remember
her?
He will. And his
little old ladies, who wouldn't be helped if he hadn't fallen in love with
Buffy and started his way on the long road back from Hell.
It's a weird
legacy. It's probably not the one she would have chosen.
But it'll do.
##
Buffy's lying on
Giles' couch, a cold cloth over her eyes, and Giles is setting an icepack on
her wrist while Angel watches.
They won the
fight, but Buffy took the brunt of the damage. She's hurt, although she's
already healing. And Giles goes through the steps of making her feel better, of
taking care of her, like someone who's done this a thousand times.
She's sleeping,
dead to the world. Giles pours Angel some water—Dan convinced Angel that high
fructose corn syrup is the stuff of the antichrist, so pop is out now—and pours
himself some whiskey, and they sit down in the chairs opposite the couch and
watch Buffy sleep.
It's not
uncomfortable, this silence between them. But it's full of things that could be
tense and bad. It's like a jar full of evil spirits, sealed tight for now, but
sitting on a rickety ledge in an earthquake-prone area.
"Do you hate
me?" Angel asks, swiping the jar off the shelf, saving Mother Nature the
trouble.
"Little
bit."
It can stop here. Angel
looks over at Giles, who's watching him with no apparent emotion.
"I know you
love her."
Giles sips slowly,
as if using the time to marshal his thoughts. "I always have."
"You haven't
always loved her like this." At least, Angel doesn't think he has. Has he?
Has Giles always wanted her?
"No, of
course not. She was a child when I met her."
Which is, of
course, very strong condemnation of what Angel did with her since she was one
when he met her, too. Even if no slayer is really a child. Angel sighs. Giles
is good with words; he's probably going to lose this one if he tries to take
him head on.
"She's not a
child now." There—turn it back on Giles.
"She's happy
now. With you back. That's enough for me."
"It is, isn't
it?"
Giles meets his
eyes. "I'll always miss her, but it wasn't love and you shouldn't think it
was. Not for her, anyway." He sighs, very softly. "She loves you. I've
always known that. I've always accepted that."
"Thank
you."
Giles nods,
conceding defeat in his very English way. Then the corner of his mouth turns
up. "I'm not sure Spike has ever—or will ever—accept that, though. And she
is, as we both know, still in touch with him."
Angel feels like
he's been punched. A harder, deeper punch than Dan could ever deliver.
Giles just watches
him, his expression mild.
Librarian one,
former vampire zero.
##
Buffy watches as
Angel and his friend Dan load four little old ladies into their van and drive
off. It makes her smile, seeing this side of Angel. He's still a man who wants
to make things better, even though he doesn't have to.
She didn't have to
stick around after she dropped Angel off; in fact, he doesn't like her to. She
gets that. This is his—just his. But she wanted to see him with his little old
ladies, so she drove around the block and parked far enough away that he
wouldn't see her unless he got it in his mind to look for her, but she could
see him.
Her phone rings,
plays "I'm on Fire," which she knows is a blackly funny ringtone for
Spike, but it makes her smile.
"Hey,"
she says.
"Hey,
cutie." His voice is the same as ever. Cocky, strong—with just a touch of
little boy. "So, the rumor mill is awash with news. Is it true? Did the
big poof steal my girl and my
prophecy?"
"Yes. But I
don't know about the stealing part."
She can
practically hear his eye roll from where she is parked.
"I suppose
you're happy with him, too, aren't you?"
"Yes." She
tries to make the word gentle but very firm. If Spike thinks there's even a
chink in the armor of her relationship with Angel, he'll be making his way to
her in no time.
And she's happy. For
the first time in a long time, she's happy.
"I'm happy,
Spike."
There's a long
silence, then he says, "That's great, love." And his voice is soft,
his tone is sincere. He loves her enough to mean it.
She loves him
enough to hope it doesn't hurt him too much to say it.
##
Angel sits by the
pool, watching Buffy splash with two little kids. They could have kids now, he
realizes, and he tries to imagine what that would be like. He loved being a dad
to Connor, loved holding him and changing him and just being with him. He
didn't have him long enough to make many mistakes, although mistakes were all
he seemed to make once he came back from Quor'Toth—not
that Connor was exactly easy to deal with after Holtz made him over into his
image in that hell dimension.
Angel knew what a
hell dimension could do to a man, let alone a kid. His kid. He'd let his kid be
taken to a hell dimension. Jeez, what was he doing even thinking about having
kids again? What kind of father let his kid be taken to a hell dimension?
Buffy is laughing
as she comes back, she shakes some water off her fingers onto him, then flops
into her lounge chair. "Cute kids." She glances at him. "You okay?"
"Just
thinking about Connor."
"When am I
going to meet him?"
He smiles, happy
that she wants to. Although Connor already stole his girl once—is this really a
good idea? "Soon," he settles for saying. Nice, ambiguous, could mean
never.
"He's your
son. I want to meet him." She sighs. "We never talk about him. Or
Cordy."
He meets her eyes.
She had Riley. She had Spike. And she had Giles. Who knows how many others in
the years since they parted? He had Cordy—only he never really had her. And
Nina, but if Buffy doesn't know about her, he isn't going to bring her up. "Cordy's dead."
"I know. But
you loved her, right?"
He nods, looks
away. "She always knew you were the one, though."
"I
didn't." She smiles sheepishly. "I was really jealous of her. She was
in L.A. with you, when I wasn't allowed to be." She shakes her head. "I
was jealous of Faith, too. And that girl Willow told me about, the one you
rescued from the demon dimension."
"Fred." Poor
doomed Fred. How many women did he get killed while he was fighting the good
fight? Cordy and Fred, but also Lilah and Darla, and who knows what happened to
Eve—not that he cares. And Wesley and Gunn might argue that helping Angel
wasn't exactly easy on the male side of the species, either. No humans walked
away from that last battle.
"I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to bring all this up. I wanted today to be nice...light."
He smiles but
knows it's not quite a full smile. "I was watching you with those kids. Thinking
that maybe we could, well, have some."
"Kids?" She
sounds surprised, as if she hasn't even considered it.
Why hasn't she considered
it?
She reaches over,
takes his hand. "You'd have to be Mister Mom. You're the stable one, with
the job and all."
"I could do
that."
She squeezes his
hand. "I know you could. I'm not so sure about me."
"You raised Dawn
when your mom died."
"I raised her
badly and with a lot of help."
"She turned
out okay." Not that he's seen her since he's been back, but he's talked to
her. She sounds good, sounds happy. "We'd do all right as parents." He
grins at her. "We've had good role models and not-so-good ones. We'll do
what the good ones would have done and not do what the bad ones would have
done."
"You make it
sound so simple."
"I think
maybe it is." Except when it's not, but they could deal with that when it
happens.
If it happens. Buffy
may never get pregnant. He may not be able to get her pregnant.
"Should we be
married?" he asks.
"If that's a
proposal, it seriously needs work." She's grinning, eyes probably
sparkling behind her big, sexy sunglasses.
"I'm not
asking, I'm just wondering. Should we be?" He rolls over so he can watch
her. "Do you want to be married?"
"Do
you?"
"Yes. Maybe...later.
I'm not sure."
She smiles and
leans back. "Well, there's your answer, then."
"But what do
you want, Buffy?"
She laughs, a
gentle, genuine laugh. "I want you. Anything else is just extra icing on
the cake of Buffy happiness."
"I get
that." He'll have to think about this. Marriage. Kids. Next time he brings
it up, he'll do it right with a ring and the whole kneeling thing.
In the meantime,
he'll just concentrate on enjoying being happy.
"I'm glad I'm
human." Glad he was done fighting at the same time she was ready for him
to be done.
"I am,
too." She sighs and he knows she's drifting into what he's dubbed the
Buffy Sun Doze. Here, in the light, she can finally let down.
Although maybe
it's more that she's here, in the light, with him that makes her feel like
she's totally safe.
He loves that
idea. Wants to be the one to make her feel safe, after all that they've been
through.
"I love you,
Buffy."
She smiles,
mumbles that she loves him, too.
He watches her for
a while, then turns over, puts on more sunscreen, and lets the sun beat down on
him.
It's the best
feeling in the world.
FIN